EDINBURGH  CASTLE. 


BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED. 


\  ^  —\ 


E^ 


Its  People  and  Princes.— Its  " 
Pleasures  and  Palaces. 


A   GRAPHIC   AND    INTERESTING    NARRATIVE    OF  A   DISTINGUISHED 

AMERICAN  woman's  TOUR  OF  ONE  YEAR  AMONG  THE  LEADING 

ATTRACTIONS    OF    EUROPE;    SKETCHING    HER   VISITS   TO 

VARIOUS   COUNTRIES,  HER   EXPERIENCES  IN  HUMBLE 

HOMES    AND    ROYAL    PALACES,   AND    HER    FULL 

SHARE   IN   THE   VARIED   PLEASURES    OF 

THE  HIGH   AND  THE  LOWLY. 


By  grace  greenwood. 


EDGEWOOD  PUBLISHING  CO. 


DEDICATION. 

To  my  publishers  and  my  dear  friends,  William  D. 
TicKNOR  and  James  T.  Fields,  of  Boston,  and  to  their 
friend  and  mine,  Francis  Bennoch,  of  London,  I 
gratefully  anc  heart  ly  dedicate  this  volume. 

GRACE   GREENWOOD. 


m 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I.  PAGE 

The  Voyage  out.  —  Jenny  Lind.  —  Captain  West.  —  Custom  House. 

—  Landing.  —  The  Country.  —  Liverpool.  —  Mr.   Martineau.  —  Bir- 
mingham. —  Joseph  Sturge.  —  Warwick  CaJstle.  —  Stratford  on  Avon. 

—  Coventry, 1 


CHAPTER    II. 

Nottingham.  —  Lincoln.  —  Newstead.  —  Hucknall.  —  Kenilworth.  — 
London.  —  Barry  Cornwall. — Westminster  Abbey. — The  City. — Mr. 
Cobden.  —  Hyde  Park.  —  Houses  of  Parliament.  —  Lord  Carlisle. — 
Mary  Howitt. — Prorogation  of  Parliament.  —  The  Queen.  —  Martin 
Tupper.  —  Miss  Mitford, 21 


CHAPTER    III. 

iSfewgate.  —  Model  Prisons.  —  Mr.  Dickens.  —  Walter  Savage  Landor. 
•-Charles  Kemble.  —  English  Hospitality.  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hall— 
a*  (V) 


Vl  ^     CONTENTS. 

Joseph  Mazzmi.  —  Albert  Smith.  —  Zoological  Gardens.  —  British 
Museum.  —  Windsor  Castle.  —  Stafford  House.  —  Bridgewater  Gal- 
lery.—  Mr.  Kingsley.  —  A  Literary  Party.  —  Astley's.  —  The  Docks. 
—  The  Tower.  —  Greenwich.  —  The  Opera,  —  Grisi. — Mario.  —  The 
Tomb  of  Milton, 45 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Wales.  —  Irish  Channel. — Dublin.  —  Cork.  —  Blarney  Castle.  —  The 
Blarney  Stone.  —  The  Country.  —  The  People. — Monkstown.  —  En 
Route  for  Killamey.  —  Glengariff.  —  A  Character.  —  Killamey.  — 
Excursions.  —  Ascent  of  Mangerton.  —  The  daik-bearded  Tourist.— 
Koss  Castle. —  "  Paddy  Blake."  —  The  Shannon.  —  Limerick. — Dub- 
lin. —  Sir  Philip  Crampton.  —  Model  Prison.  —  Lunatic  Asylum.  — 
Donnybrook  Fair.  —  Dublin  Society, 75 


CHAPTER    V. 

Wicklow. — Vale  of  Avoca. — Devil's  Glen. — Valley  of  the  Seven 
Churches.  —  St.  Kevin.  —  Lough  Bray.  —  Sir  Philip  Crampton.— 
Giant's  Causeway.  —  Castle  of  Dunluce.  —  North  of  Ireland.  —  Bel- 
fast.—  Lough  Neagh.  —  Religious  and  Political  Questions. — Anec- 
dote,   lOJ 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Ayr.  —  Alloway.  —  The  Birthplace  of  Bums.  —  The  Monument.  —  Mrs. 
Begg.  —  Glasgow.  — ^Loch  Long.  —  Loch  Goil.  —  Inverary.  —  Tarbet. 
—  Ascent  of  Ben  Lomond.  —  Loch  Lomond.  —  Loch  Katrine.  —  Stir- 
ling. —  Edinburgh.  —  Holyrood.  —  Melrose.  —  Abbotsford.  —  Dry* 


CONTENTS.  VH 

burgh. — Newcastle  upon  Tyne. — York.  —  The  Minster.  —  London. 
-~  Hampton  Court, ..• lltf 


CHAPTER    VII. 

Paris.  —  The  Louvre.  —  The  Madeleine. — Place  de  la  Concorde.— 
Chapel  of  St.  Ferdinand.  —  Neuilly.  —  Hotel  des  Invalides.  —  Tomb 
of  Napoleon.  —  Notre  Dame.  —  Pere  La  Chaise.  —  Versailles.  — 
Avignon.  —  Papal  Palace. — Inquisition.  —  Pont  de  Gard. — Vau- 
cluse.  —  Marseilles.  —  Voyage  to  Genoa.  —  Genoa.  —  Cornice  Road, 
—  Pisa.  —  Voyage  from  Leghorn  to  Civita  Vecchia.  —  Rome.  —  The 
Coliseum.  —  The  Catacombs.  —  Tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella.  —  Appian 
Way.  —  Baths  of  Caracalla.— Columbaria.  —  Capitol. — Via  Sacra,  .  141 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

Bt  Peter's.  •»-  Statues.  -—  Sistine  Chapel.  —  High  Mass.  —  The  Pope.  — 
Aspect  of  the  City.  —  Of  'the  People.  —  Peasants.  —  Beggars.  — 
Soldiers.  —  Priests.  —  "Works  of  Art.  —  The  Apollo.  —  The  Dying 
Gladiator. — The  Cenci. — Villa  Borghese.  —  Tivoli. — Ascent  of  St. 
Peter's.  —  The  Coliseum  by  Moonlight.  —  The  English  Burying 
Ground.  —  Graves  of  Keats  and  Shelley. — A  Religious  Procession. 
^Albano.  —  A  Ride  on  the  Campagna, .    ..........  169 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Christmtis  and  New  Year's  Ceremonies.  —  The  Holy  Cradle. —  High 
Mass  at  St.  Peter's.  —  The  Pope.  —  Cardinal  Antinelli. — Te  Deum 
at  tXe  Gesu.  — Jewish  Synagogue. — The  Campagna. —'Doria  and 


Vm  •  CONTENTS. 

Corsini  Palaces.  —  Portrait  of  Lucrezia  Borgia.  —  Monastery  of  St. 
Onofrio.  —  Tomb  of  Tasso.  —  Propagandist  College.  —  Art.  -~  Modem 
Artists.  —  Overbeck.  —  Tenerani.  —  Steinhauser.  —  Gibson.  —  Miss 
Hosmer, I9b 


CHAPTER    X. 

American  Artists.  —  Crawford.  —  His  "Washington  Monument.— Mr. 
Story.  —  Mr.  Greenough.  —  Mr.  Mozier.  —  Mr.  Page.  —  Blessijig  of 
the  Beasts.  —  The  Carnival.  —  Races.  —  The  Mocoli.  —  Ball. — Ro- 
man Nobility.  —  King  of  Bavaria.  —  Meeting  the  Pope.  —  Veil. — 
Storms 2W 


CHAPTER    XI. 

iVashington's  Birthday.  —  The  Emeute  at  Milan.  —  Italian  Freedom. 

—  The  Papal  Supremacy. — Beggars.  —  Models.  —  Tableaux  Vivants. 

—  Guide's  Aurora. — The  Colonna.  —  The  Quirinal. — Drive  on  the 
Appian  Way. — Peasant  Boys. — Cardinals'  Receptions. — The  Spring 
Time  in  Italy.  —  Character  of  the  Italians,  political  and  religious.  — 
Ceremony  at  St.  Peter's.  —  High  Mass  at  the  Sistine,  ......  243 


CHAPTER    XII. 

A  Gallop  on  the  Campagna.  —  The  Church  of  the  Cappuccini.  —  The 
under-ground  Cemetery.  —  "Visit  to  the  Galleries  of  the  Vatican  by 
Torchlight.  —  Holy  Week.  —  Palm  Sunday.  —  The  Miserere  in  the 
Sistine  Chapel.  —  Scene  at  the  Entrance. — The  Ceremonies  of  Holy 
Thursday.  —The  Crowd  and  Crush.  —  The  Pope  waits  upon  the  Apo«- 


CONTENTS.  IX 

ties  at  the  Table.  —  Miserere  in  St,  Peter's.  —  Washing  the  Al- 
tar, and  Exhibition  of  the  Relics.  —  Scene  at  the  Trinita  dei  Pelle- 
grini,        264 


CHAPTER    XlII. 

Holy  Friday.  — The  Scala  Santa,  at  St.  John  Lateran.  — The  Three 
Hours'  Agony.  —  Miserere  in  the  Choral  Chapel.  —  Ceremony  of  Bap- 
tism at  St.  John  Lateran.  —  The  Benediction  of  the  Pope. — The 
niumination  of  St.  Peter's. — Fireworks  on  the  Pincio. — Fair  at 
Grotta  Ferrata.  —  Peasants.  —  Costumes.  —  Frascati.  —  The  Tomb  of 
Charles  Edward. — A  Donkey  Ride  to  ancient  Tusculum.  —  Spada 
Palace.  —  Statue  of  Pompey, 290 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Last  Bays  in  Rome.  —  Set  out  for  Naples.  —  The  Pontine  Marshes.-*- 
Terracina.  —  Mola  di  Gaeta.  —  St.  Agata.  —  Capua.  —  Vesuvius.— 
Neapolitan  Beggars. — Naples.  —  A  Row  on  the  Bay.  —  The  Museum. 
—  Herculaneum.  —  Pompeii.  —  Salerno.  —  Poestum.  —  Amalfi.  —  La 
Luna.  —  The  "  Tarantella."  —  Sorrento.  —  Unfortunate  Trip  to  Capri. 
--Return  to  Naples 3l'8 


CHAPTER    XV. 

Ascent  of  Vesuvius.  —  Museum.  —  Group  of  the  Famese  Bull.  — 
Bronzes  from  Herculaneum.  —  Pompeian  Curiosities.  —  Virgil's 
Tomb.  —  Grotto  of  Posilippo.  —  Pozzuoli. — Lake  Avemus.  —  Cuma. 
—  Baia. — Temple  of  Mercury.  —  Lake  Fusaro,  the  ancient  Styx.   - 


:  CONTENTS. 

The  Elysian  Fields.  —  Baths  of  Nero.  — Grotto  of  the  Sibyl.  — Beg 
gars.  —  Festa  of  San  Gennaro.  —  The  Miracle.  —  The  Lazzaroni.— 
The  Churches  of  Naples.  —  Grotta  del  Cane.  —  Aspect  of  Naples.— 
The  Solfatara.  —  Last  Visit  to  the  Museum.  —  The  Balbus  Family.  — 
Fompeian  Works  of  Art.  — The  Catacombs.  —  The  New  Cemetery. 
—  The  Pits. — A  Drive  through  the  Haunts  of  the  Lazzaroni. — The 
Prisons, • 332 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

y  oyage  to  Leghorn.  —  Leghorn.  —  Florence.  —  The  TJffizi.  —  The  Trib- 
une.— The  Venus  de  Medici. — The  Fomarina.  —  The  Pitti  Palace. 

—  Fiesole.  —  House  of  Michael  Angelo.  —  Dante's  Stone.  —  The 
Cascini.  —  Charles  Lever.  — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning.  —  Hiram  Pow- 
ers, his  Studio.  —  Group  of  the  Niobe.  — The  Grand  Duke.  —  The 
Santa  Croce.  —  The  Medicean  Chapel.— Michael  Angelo's  monu- 
mental Groups.  —  Last  Drive  in  the  Cascini.  —  Adieu  to  Florence.  — 
Journey  through  Tuscany.  —  Bologna  Gallery.  —  Ferrara.  —  Cathe- 
dral. —  The  Castle.  —  Cells  of  Ugo  and  Parisina.  —  Prison  of  Tasso. 

—  House  of  Ariosto.  — An  Adventure  at  the  Custom  House. — 
Padua,  its  Clocks  and  Sights,    ... 352 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

Arrival  at  Venice.  — The  grand  Canal.  — The  Square  of  St.  Mark, 
the  Church.- Palace  of  the  Doges.  — The  Dungeons.  —  Bridge  of 
Sighs.  —  Academy  of  Fine  Arts.  —  Titian's  great  Works.  — The 
Churches  of  Venice.  —  Evening  in  the  Piazza.  —  The  Manfrini  Pal- 
ace. —  Byron's  Palace.  —  Venice  by  Moonlight.  —  The  Rialto.  —  The 
Arsenal.  —  The  Armenian  Convent.  —  The  Gondola.  —  Festa  of  Cor- 


CONTENTS.  XI 

pus  Domine.  —  Hospital  of  San  Servolo.  —  The  Civil  Hospital  and 
Madhouse.  —  Sequel  of  the  Adventure  of  Santa  Maria  Maddalena. 
—  VejTona.  —  House  of  Juliet.  —  Milan.  —  Cathedral.  —  Chapel  of 
San  Carlo.  —  The  Brera.  —  The  Biblioteca  Ambrosiana.  —  Lock  of 
Lucrezia  Borgia's  Hair.  —  Theatre.  —  Condition  of  Milan.  —  Air  of 
the  People.  —  Austrian  and  Hungarian  Troops.  —  Public  Drives  and 
Promenades, •/.  372 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

Lake  Maggiore.  —  Isola  Bella.  —  Sanctuario  of  the  Virgin.  —  Lake 
Corao.  —  Villa  D'Este.  —  The  Pliniana.  —  Prince  Belgioso.  —  Pasta'a 
Cottage.  —  Taglioni's,  —  Churches.  —  Bormeo.  —  Ascent  of  the  Alps. 
—  Pass  of  the  Stelvio.  — The  Ortler  Spitz.  —  Glaciers.  —  Mais. — 
The  Tyrol.  — Pass  of  the  Finstermunz.  — A  Shooting  Match. —  Cos- 
tumes and  Manners  of  the  Tyrolese  Peasants.  —  Innsbruck  and  its 
Sights.  —  Tagemsee.  —  Floods.  —  Women  working  in  the  Fields.  — 
Munich.  —  The  Royal  Palace. — Pictures.  —  Lola  Montes.  —  Galleries 
and  Churches.  —  Colossal  Statue  of  Bavaria.  —  The  Opera.  —  The 
King  and  Queen, 401 


CHAPTER     XIX. 

Btrasbourg  the  Cathedral.  —  Paris.  —  Annual  Exhibition  of  Paint- 
ing and  Sculpture.  —  The  Emperor  and  Empress. — Abdel  Ka- 
der.  —  London.  —  A  Tale  of  a  Hat,  —  Frederic  Freiligrath.  —  Sir 
Henry  Bishop.  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall.  —  Runnymead.  — 
The  Camp  at  Chobham.  —  Pontooning  at  Virginia  "Water.  — 
Conversazione    at    the    Lord    Mayor's.  —  Distinguished  Guests.  — 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

The  Duchess  of  Sutherland.  —  Crystal  Palace  at  Sydenham.  — 
Ascent  of  St.  Paul's.  —  Consumption  Hospital.  —  German  Play. 
—  Emfl  Devrient.  —  A  Farewell  Visit  to  Kossuth.  —  Mazzini.  — 
Adieaz.  iSl 


CHAPTER    I. 

The  Votaoe  out.  —  Jenny  Lind.  —  Captain  West. —  Custov  Hotrsa. 
—  Landing.  —  The  Country.  —  Liyerpool.  —  Mb.  Maktine^.u.  — 
Birmingham.  —  Joseph  Sturge.  —  Warwick  Castle.  —  Stratfori* 
ON  Avon.  —  Coventry. 

LlYERl'OOL^  JUJVB  10,  1852. 

The  gallant  steamer  Atlantic,  on  which  I  came  out  pas- 
senger, sailed  from  New  York  on  Saturday,  the  29th  of  May, 
a  sunny  and  quiet  day.  As  Jenny  Goldschmidt  and  her  hus- 
band were  on  board,  an  immense  concourse  of  people  were 
assembled  at  the  landing,  on  the  docks  and  vessels  near  by,  to 
see  them  off.  They  stood  on  the  wheel  house  with  Captain 
West,  bowing,  smiling,  and  waving  their  grateful  farewell. 
As  with  a  parting  gun  we  bounded  from  the  shore,  the  heart 
gave  one  last,  wild,  agonized  throb  for  friends  and  home,  then 
sunk  into  depths  of  dread  unknown  before.  Yet  that  thronged 
and  beautiful  city,  that  magnificent  harbor,  white  with  count- 
less sails,  pldbghed  and  overs  wept  with  busy  life,  was  a  glo- 
rious sight,  seen  even  through  tears. 

As  we  approached  Sandy  Hook,  the  atmosphere  grew  hazy, 
and  before  we  were  out  at  sea  we  were  enveloped  in  a  dense 
fog,  and  obliged  to  come  to  anchor,  where  we  remained  some 
fifteen  hours.  We  -passed  this  time  very  pleasantly,  in  ex- 
ploring the  ship,  chatting,  writing  letters  to  send  back  by  the 
pilot,  eating  and  sleeping.  I  awoke  late  the  next  morning, 
and  found  we  were  at  sea  in  earnest.  I  remember  very  little 
more  of  that  morning,  except  it  be  the  incident  of  my  finding 
out,  as  by  instinct,  the  use  of  a  queer  little  utensil  of  painted 
tin,  a  sort  of  elongated  spittoon,  wliich  stood  by  my  washstand. 
1  (1) 


Z  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS    OP 

I  performed  my  toilet  as  speedily  as  circumstances  woultl 
allow,  and  hurried  on  deck,  where  I  soon  found  myself  quite 
well.  The  day  was  delicious  beyond  what  words  may  tell. 
The  air  was  fresh,  yet  the  sea  tranquil,  and  the  sur  shine  rich 
and  warm.  There  seemed  a  sort  of  strife  of  beauty,  a  rival 
ship  of  brightness,  between  the  heaven  above  and  the  waters 
below,  and  the  soul  of  the  gazer  now  went  floating  off  on  the 
green  undulations  of  the  waves,  to  where  they  seemed  to  break 
against  the  sky,  or  dreamed  itself  away  into  the  fathomless 
blue,  in  a  sort  of  quiet,  wordless  ecstasy  —  "  the  still  luxury 
of  delight."  Then  came  on  the  night  —  our  first  night  at  sea. 
The  wind  had  freshened,  the  sails  were  set,  the  ship  shot 
through  the  gleaming  waves,  scattering  the  diamond  spray 
from  her  prow,  and  the  moon  was  over  all.  As  it  went  up  the 
sky,  its  course  was  marked  by  a  long  reach  of  tremulous  radi- 
ance on  the  deep.  It  seemed  to  me  like  the  love  of  the  dear 
ones  I  had  left,  stretching  out  towards  me.  But  there  came 
a  yet  higher  thought  —  that  such  a  path  of  brightness  must 
have  shone  under  the  feet  of  Jesus  when  he  "  walked  on  the 
water"  toward  the  perilled  ship. 

Two  pleasant  days  and  nights  followed,  during  which  many 
agreeable  acquaintances  were  formed  among  the  passengers. 
My  seat  at  table  was  on  the  left  of  Captain  AVefst,  and  oppo- 
site the  Goldschmidts.  Otto  Goldschmidt,  husband  of  Jenny 
Lind,  impressed  me,  not  only  as  a  man  of  genius,  but  of  rare 
refinement  and  nobility  of  character.  He  is  small,  and  deli- 
cately formed,  but  his  head  is  a  remarkably  fine  one,  his  face 
beautiful  in  the  best  sense  of  the  term.  He  is  fair,  with  hair 
of  a  dark,  golden  hue,  soft,  brown  eyes,  thoughtful  even  to 
Badness.  I  have  never  seen  a  brow  more  pure  and  spiritual 
than  his.  Yet,  for  all  its  softness  and  youthfulness,  Mr.  Gold- 
echmidt's  face  is  by  no  means  wanting  in  dignity  and  manli- 
ness of  expression.  There  is  a  maturity  of  thought,  a  calm 
strength  of  character,  a  self-poise  about  him,  wliich  in  press 
you  more  and  more. 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  8 

The  pure  and  graceful  Greek  column  makes  no  solid  or  de- 
fiant show  of  strength,  like  the  unchiselled  stone  or  the  jagged 
rock,  yet  it  may  be  as  strong  in  its  beauty  and  perfect  propor- 
tions, and  were  decidedly  pleasanter  to  lean  against.  I  believe 
that  Jenny  Lii^d  in  her  marriage  followed  not  alone  the  im- 
pulses of  her  woman's  lieart,  but  obeyed  the  higher  instincts 
of  her  poetic  and  artistic  nature. 

For  the  first  few  days  of  our  voyage,  she  seemed  singularly 
shy  and  reserved,  I  have  seen  her  sit  hour  after  hour  by  her- 
self, in  some  unfrequented  part  of  the  vessel,  looking  out  over 
the  sea.  I  often  wondered  if  her  thoughts  were  then  busy 
with  the  memories  of  her  glorious  career  —  if  she  were  living 
over  her  past  triumphs,  the  countless  times  when  the  cold 
quiet  of  the  highest  heaven  of  fashion  broke  into  thunders  of 
acclamation  above  her,  and  came  down  in  a  rain  of  flowers  at 
her  feet.  Was  it  of  those  perishable  wreaths,  placed  on  her 
brow  amid  the  glare  and  tumult  of  the  great  world,  she  mused 
' — or  of  that  later  crowning  of  her  womanhood,  when  softly 
and  silently  her  brow  revived  from  God's  own  hand  the 
chrism  of  a  holy  and  enduring  love  ?  Was  it  the  happy, 
loving  wife,  or  the  great,  world-renowned  artiste,  who  dreamed 
there  alone,  looking  out  over  the  sea  ? 

On  Wednesday,  our  last  really  bright  day,  I  espied  a  spent 
butterfly  fluttering  its  brilliant  wings  on  one  of  the  ship's 
spars.  It  had  been  blown  all  that  distance,  the  captain  said. 
I  could  hardly  have  been  more  surprised  if  the  spar  on  which 
it  had  lit  had  blossomed  before  my  eyes.  This  day  and  the 
one  following,  many  of  the  gentlemen  and  some  of  the  ladies 
amused  themselves  with  the  game  of  "  shuffleboard."  We  had 
among  the  passengers  three  right  reverend  bisliops,  one  of 
whom  joined  heartily  in  this  play.  I  was  amused  by  the  style 
of  address  used  toward  him  occasionally.  "  Now,  bishop,  it's 
your  turn  !  "     "  Go  ahead,  bishop  !  " 

X  thmk  it  were  scarcely  possible  for  a  ship  to  take  out  a 


4  HAPS    AKD    3fT9nAPS    OP 

finer  set  of  passengers  than  we  had.  Intelligent,  agreeable 
kindly,  all  seemed  striving  for  the  general  enjoyment ;  and 
had  the  elements  continued  propitious,  the  entire  voyage  would 
have  seemed  like  a  pleasant  social  party,  "  long  drawn  out." 

On  Thursday,  woe's  the  day !  we  were  otF  the  banks  of 
Newfoundland  —  the  fogs  became  chill  and  heavy,  and  towards 
night  the  sea  grew  rough.  The  next  morning  I  found  it  quite 
impossible  for  me  to  remain  on  deck,  even  with  overshoes, 
blankets,  and  shawls.  The  wind  from  the  region  of  snows  cut 
to  one's  very  bones.  It  brought  to  mind  strange  pictures  of 
seals  crawling  from  iceberg  to  iceberg,  and  of  young  polar  bears 
diverting  themselves  by  sliding  down  ice  precipices  three  hun- 
dred feet  high.  I  sought  the  saloon  in  despair,  where,  as  wind 
and  sea  rose,  and  the  ship  lurched  and  rolled,  I  all  too  soon 
grew  ready  to  admit  our  friend  Horace  Greeley  to  be  the  truest 
of  sea  prophets,  the  honestest  of  voyagers. 

A  strange  thing  is  this  physical  sympathy  with  elemental 
disturbance  —  the  tumult  witliout  answered  by  "  that  which  is 
most  within  us"  —  the  surge  and  heave  oceanic  —  the  surge 
and  heave  stomachic  and  responsive  — "  deep  calling  unto 
tl'^ep."     But  we  will  not  dwell  on  it. 

For  three  days  and  nights  I  was  really  a  great  sufferer,  but 
I  had  plenty  of  companionship  in  my  misery.  Very  few  of 
the  passengers  escaped  seasickness  entirely,  and  many  were 
very  ill.  Mr.  Goldschmidt  suffered  severely  ;  his  wife  was 
not  affected  in  the  ordinary  way,  but  underwent  much  from 
nervousness,  restlessness,  and  fear.  Yet  I  saw  the  true  love- 
liness of  her  nature  more  than  ever  before.  She  Avent  from 
one  to  another  of  the  sick  with  a  kind  vvord  and  a  sweet,  saa 
smile  ;  and  for  my  part,  1  feit  ihat  such  words  and  such  smiles 
were  not  too  dearly  bought,  even  by  a  lit  of  seasickness. 
WliMt  lover  could  say  more  ? 

My  state  room  was  too  far  aft  for  comfort ;  I  could  not  en- 
dure it  after    llie  rough  weather  came  on,  but,  day  and  night 


A   TOUR    IN   EUROPE.  0 

occupied  a  sofa  in  the  saloon,  where,  with  blankets,  cushions, 
and  pillows,  I  was  made  as  comfortable  as  circumstances  would 
allow.  I  could  not  have  had  in  my  own  father's  house  kinder 
or  more  constant  attention,  and  a  father  could  not  have  cared 
for  me  better  than  did  Captain  West.  He  more  than  answered 
my  expectations  —  more  than  fulfilled  the  pledges  and  justified 
the  praises  of  his  friends.  A  plain,  honest,  generous-hearted 
sailor,  yet  every  inch  a  gentleman.  I  trust  he  will  pardon,  as 
I  am  sure  that  many,  very  many,  will  echo,  my  simple,  invol- 
untary expression  of  gratitude  and  esteem. 

On  Tuesday  morning,  about  ten  o'clock,  I  was  helped  on 
deck  to  catch  the  first  sight  of  land.  The  sea  had  "  smoothed 
his  wrinkled  front,"  the  whid  had  gone  down  somewhat,  and 
the  sun  shone  out  fitfully.  Every  body  was  on  deck  —  all, 
even  the  invalids,  in  high  and  eager  spirits.  At  last  the 
welcome  cry  was  heard,  and  dimly  through  the  mist  was  seen 
the  high  and  rocky  shore  of  Ireland  —  blessed  old  Ireland  ! 
sv)ate  Ireland  I  the  gem  of  the  sea  !  No  name  seemed  too 
fond  or  poetic  to  apply  to  it  at  that  moment. 

Cape  Clear  for  a  long  time  belied  its  name  ;  bvit  finally  the 
fog  lifted,  and  we  saw  coast,  rocks,  and  lighthouses  very 
distinctly. 

The  last  dinner  on  board  ship  was  very  pleasant,  though 
there  were  no  speeches  ;  and  Captain  West,  with  character- 
istic modesty,  slipped  out  before  his  health  could  be  proposed ; 
60  we  had  no  response  from  him. 

The  approach  to  Liverpool  has  been  often  enough  described. 
I  will  only  say,  that  the  shores,  seen  through  a  drizzling  rain, 
and  even  the  city,  seen  under  a  black  cloud  of  coal  smoke, 
were  sights  welcome  and  beautiful  to  my  sea-wearied  eyes. 

About  twelve  o'clock   the   custom-house   officers  came  on 

board,  and  the  examination  of  baggage   commenced.     Lady 

passenge-rs,  who  had  suffered  throughout  the  voyage  from  a 

nervous    dread   of  a  stern  official   rHDsacking  of  carpet  bags, 

1* 


€  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

and  from  the  belief  that  it  is  through  much  tribulation  in  the 
way  of  tumbled  trunks  and  exposed  nightcaps  that  we  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  Great  Britain,  were  then  most  agreeably 
disappointed.  Trunks  were  opened  indeed,  but  by  no  means 
a  minute  examination  made  of  their  contents.  A  sealed 
package  lay  on  the  top  of  my  trunk.  The  officer  politely 
asked  me  what  this  contained.  "  An  American  book,"  I  an- 
swered. "  Will  you  tell  me  its  title  ?  "  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cab- 
in^'' I  replied,  "  O,  we  will  pass  '  Uncle  Tom's  Log  Cabin,' " 
he  answered,  laughing. 

The  tide  not  allowing  the  Atlantic  to  go  into  the  dock, 
we  were  landed  by  a  small  steamboat.  "We  left  our  beautiful 
ship  and  noble  captain  with  a  feeling  of  regret,  and  all  hands 
and  voices  joined  in  three  hearty  cheers  for  both. 

The  expected  arrival  of  Madame  Goldschmidt  —  the  peo- 
ple's Jenny  Lind  forever  —  liad  assembled  a  large  crowd,  but 
the  presence  of  a  strong  police  force  kept  down  all  enthusiastic 
demonstration. 

On  landing,  Liverpool  first  struck  me  as  differing  from  our 
seaport  towns,  in  having  a  vastly  greater  number  of  docks, 
vessels,  police  officers,  ragged  boys,  red-faced  men,  barefooted 
women,  and  donkey  carts. 

The  Adelphi^  the  best  house  in  Liverpool,  does  not  compare 
with  our  first-class  hotels,  either  for  comfort  or  elegance.  The 
attendants  are  respectful  and  kindly  enough,  but  provokingly 
slow.     They  are  eternally  "  coming." 

WooLTON,  June  14. 

From  Liverpool  I  came  here,  where  I  have  spent  some 
days,  quietly,  but  most  delightfully.  "  Rose  Hill,"  the  resi- 
dence of  Dr.  M ,  in  whose  family  I  am  visiting,  is  quite 

apart  from  the  village  of  Wooltpn,  and  is  certainly  one  of  the 
loveliest  places  I  have  ever  seen.  The  house  is  approached 
Ky  a  winding  road,  through  a  dense  little  forest  of  beautiful 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  7 

trees,  is  surrounded  by  highly-cultivated  grounds,  and  over- 
looks a  wide  and  varied  extent  of  country.  O,  the  glorious 
old  trees,  the  beautiful  green  hedges,  the  gorgeous  flowera 
of  England !  What  words  of  mine  would  have  power  to  set 
them  whispering,  and  waving,  and  gleaming  before  you  ?  I 
never  shall  forget  the  effect  wrouglit  upon  me  by  the  sight  of 
the  first  flowers  I  saw,  born  of  the  soil  and  blossomed  by  the 
airs  of  Old  England.  It  may  be  thought  strange,  but  the  first 
tears  1  shed  after  my  last  parting  with  my  friends  at  New 
York  fell  fast  on  the  fragrant  leaves,  and  glistened  in  the^ 
rich,  red  heart  of  an  English  rose.  In  some  mysterious 
depths  of  association,  beyond  the  soundings  of  thought,  lay 
the  source  of  those  tears. 

I  have  had  a  wet  welcome  to  the  laiid  of  mists  and  show- 
ers. It  has  rained  every  day  since  my  arrival,  yet  every 
day  we  have  had  some  hours  of  beautiful  sunshine,  and  the 
sweet  freshness  of  the  air  compensates  for  the  unseasonable 
coolness. 

Strange  and  delightful  to  me  are  the  long  English  twilights. 

Think  of  the  sun  hanging  on  till  nearly  nine  o'clock,  like  a 

pleasantly-entertained  visitor,  reluctant  to  retire.     The  nights 

here  are  deliciously  cool  and  quiet.     Then,  no  one,  without 

the   actual  experience,  can    imagine  the  luxurious  rest  and 

"sweet  release"  of  one,  who,  after  having   been  cribbed  up 

in  the  narrow  berth  of  a  steamship  for  a  dozen  or  more 

nights,  may 

"  spread 

The  loosened  limbs  o'er  a  wian  English  bed."  ^ 

As  for  me,  afler  four  days  and  nights'  toilsome  occupancy 
of  a  narrow  sofa,  without  the  advantage  of  previous  "  prac- 
tice on  a  clothes'  line,"  recommended  by  my  friend  E , 

I  really  could  not  sleep  at  first,-  for  the  pleasure  of  the  change. 
I  tried  one  soft  pillow,  then  another,  in  the  very  daintiness 
of  repose.     I  made  sundry  eccentric  exc  'rsions,  exploratioM 


fi  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

of  the  vast  extent  of  unoccupied  territory  around  me.  1 
measured  the  magnificent  length  and  breadth  of  the  elastic 
mattress  beneath  me,  and  wraj^ped  myself  regally  in  the 
lavender-scented  linen. 

Owing  to  my  continued  indisposition,  and  the  rainy  weath- 
er, I  have  as  yet  seen  little  of  Liverpool  and  its  environs. 
The  docks  are  the  great  pride  of  the  city.  Fancy  more  than 
seven  miles  of  continuous  docks  filled  with  shipping.  St. 
George's  Hall,  a  new  building,  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  finest 
in  the  world ;  I  certainly  have  never  seen  any  thing  hand- 
somer. Many  of  the  churches  here  are  elegant  and  impos- 
ing structures,  but  none  more  tasteful,  quaintly,  and  quietly 
beautiful  than  the  Hope  Street  Unitarian  Chapel,  where  Mr. 
Martineau  preaches.  I  brought  letters  to  this  gentleman, 
and  on  Saturday  was  at  his  house.  I  found  him,  in  personal 
appearance,  all  I  looked  for.  The  pure,  fervid,  poetic  spirit, 
and  the  earnest  eloquence  which  adapt  his  writings  alike  to 
the  religious  wants,  the  devotional  sense,  the  imagination  and 
the  taste  of  his  readers,  all  live  in  his  look,  and  speak  in 
his  familiar  tones.  He  is  somewhat  slender  in  person,  with 
a  head  not  large,  but  compact  and  perfectly  balanced.  His 
perceptive  organs  are  remarkably  large,  his  brow  is  low  and 
purely  Greek,  and  his  eyes  are  of  a  deep,  changeful  blue. 
There  is  much  quietude  in  his  face  —  native,  rather  than 
acquired,  I  should  say  —  the  repose  of  unconscious,  rather 
than  of  conscious  power.  About  his  head,  altogether,  there 
is  a  classical,  chiselled  look  —  the  hair  grows  in  a  way  tt. 
enchant  an  artist,  and  every  feature  of  his  face  is  finely  and 
clearly  cut.     But  the  glow  of  the  soul  is  all  over. 

On  Sunday  morning  I  enjoyed  a  pleasure  long  hoped  for, 
and  never  to  be  forgotten,  in  hearing  him  preach  one  of  those 
wonderful  discourses  in  which  his  free  but  reverent  spirit 
seems  to  sound  the  profoundest  depths  of  the  human  soul, 
to  unveil  the  most  solemn  mysteries  of  being,  and  to  reach 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  3 

tLosii  divine  lieia;hts  to  which  few  have  attained  since  Paul 
and  .lohn  were  caught  up  and  rapt  away  from  earth,  in  holy 
visions  and  heavenly  trances. 

We  dined  and  spent  the  night  yesterday  at  Seaforth  Hall, 
an  elegant  seaside  residence,  belonging  to  a  wealtliy  manufac- 
turer of  Liverpool.  Here  I  saw  a  pleasant  water  view,  lofty 
rooms,  beautiful  conservatories  and  hothouses,  pictures,  and 
statuary  ;  and,  what  was  better,  very  agreeable  people,  and 
genuine  English  hospitality.  As  far  as  the  style  of  li\  ing 
and  manners  are  concerned,  I  as  yet  have  remarked  little 
difference  between  Liverpool  and  Boston. 

EDGBASTOy,   BlRMlXGHAM,   JUNE    17. 

I  left  Liverpool  on  an  afternoon  of  unusual  brightness, 
but  plunged  iiumediately  into  a  young  night,  in  the  shape  of 
the  longest  tunnel  I  ever  passed  through.  Tliey  tell  me  it 
is  scarcely  noticeable,  compared  with  one  between  this  place 
and  London ;  but  it  will  do  to  begin  with.  The  English  first- 
class  railway  carriages  are  more  luxurious  than  ours.  Sub- 
stantially made,  softly-cushioned  and  curtained,  nothing  can 
surpass  them  for  comfort ;  while  they  have  a  John  Bull  ex- 
clusiveness  about  them,  each  carriage  being  calculated  for  six 
passengers,  and  no  more.  So  rapid  is  the  rate  at  which  they 
run,  and  so  smooth  the  rail  below,  such  an  absence  is  there 
of  noise  and  dust,  that  it  is  even  difficult  to  believe  we  are 
going  at  all.  When  I  closed  my  eyes  on  the  scene,  I  was 
really  bewildered ;  but  when  I  looked  out  on  the  whirling 
landscape,  I  was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  either  the  trees 
and  hedges  were  having  a  grand  gallopade,  a  furious  coun- 
try dance  together,  and,  what  was  more  unlikely,  venerable 
churches  were  recreating  themselves  w'ith  a  wild  steeple 
chase,  or  that  we  were  under  glorious  headway. 

The  country  between  Liverpool  and  Birmingham,  as  far  as 
my  dizzied  sight  would  allow  me  to  judge,  seemed  flat  aud 


10  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

uninteresting.     But  the  glory  of  a  most  luxuriant  summer 
greenness  and  bloom  is  over  it  all. 

A  peculiar  and  constant  joy  to  me  is  in  remarking  how 
every  where  the  simplest  cottages  of  the  common  people  are 
built  and  adorned  with  taste,  and  kept  with  the  utmost  neat- 
ness and  care.  Many  of  them  are  exquisite  miniatures  of 
the  residences  of  the  rich  —  with  sweet  little  lawns,  and 
flower  plots,  like  children's  playgrounds,  diminutive  hedges, 
tiny  trellises,  and  gravel  walks  scarcely  a  foot  wide. 

My  friend  Mr.  Sturge  met  me  at  the  Birmingham  station, 
and  drove  me  out  to  his  place  at  Edgbaston.  It  rained  hard, 
and  the  twilight  was  deepening,  when  I  arrived :  but  I  was 
received  into  the  warmth  and  light  of  a  pleasant  little  draw- 
ing room,  opening  into  a  conservatory  of  beautiful  bright 
flowers.  I  was  met  with  sweet  words,  and  sweeter  smiles  of 
welcome,  by  the  lovely  young  wife  of  Joseph  Sturge,  and  by 
his  fair  children  —  quaint,  Quaker  specimens  of  child  beauty, 
which  is  found  in  its  rosy  perfection  in  "  merrie  England."  I 
felt  thoroughly  at  home  and  at  rest  from  the  first ;  and  then, 
that  very  night,  after  I  had  retired  to  my  room,  there  was 
sent  to  me,  all  unexpectedly,  a  package  of  letters  from 
America  !  It  were  impossible  for  one  to  conceive,  as  for  me 
to  describe,  my  emotion  on  beholding  these.  I  actually  grew 
faint  w^ith  excess  of  joy  ;  and  after  having  come  safely  over 
the  salt  seas,  there  was  danger  of  their  being  rendered  illegi- 
ble by  a  briny  greeting  on  shore.  And  yet,  I  had  been 
parted  from  the  writers  but  seventeen  days.  Ah !  the  poet 
is  entirely  correct  —  "  Time  is  not  of  years." 

Mr.  Sturge's  place  is  retired,  modest,  and  unpretending  in 
every  way,  but  very  lovely.  The  smooth,  closely-cut  lawns 
are  a  perpetual  pleasure  to  my  eye  ;  next  come  the  hedges, 
the  ivies,  the  honeysuckles,  the  hollies,  and  glossy-leaved 
laurels.  Roses  and  rhododendrons  are  now  in  full  bloom; 
peonies  are  a-flamc ;  the  May  tree  is  a  little  passe,  but  tha 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  11 

laburnum  is  yet  in  its  golden  glory,  and  with  its  long 
pendent  branches,  all  in  flower,  seems  pouring  itself  down, 
in  a  bounteous  royal  shower,  reminding  one  of  Jove's  aurifer- 
ous courtship  of  Danae. 

The  most  beautiful  tree  I  have  yet  seen  in  England  i3 
the  copper  beech ;  at  least,  it  has  tlie  finest  effect  amid  other 
foliage.  There  is  one  in  the  line  of  trees  skirting  the  lawn 
before  me,  which,  with  its  dark,  rich  tint,  looks,  amid  the 
surrounding  bloom  and  verdure,  like  a  Rembrandt  in  a 
gallery  of  bright,  modern  paintings. 

Delicious  and  countless  bird  notes  are  quivering  through 
the  mcist  air  all  day  long.  I  have  already  heard  the  cuckoo, 
the  blackbird,  and  the  thrush ;  and  English  poetry  and 
English  life  will  henceforth  be  the  sweeter  to  me  for  their 
remembered  strains. 

I  have  seen  some  fine  bloodhorses  since  my  arrival,  but 
I  actually  admire  most  the  powerful  dray  horses  of  Ijver- 
pool.  They  are  magnificent  great  animals.  I  shall  never 
have  done  wondering  at  the  little  donkey  carts,  or,  rather,  at 
the  immense  strength,  and  no  body,  of  the  donkeys  them- 
selves. I  had  no  idea  that  this  really  estimable,  though  much 
contemned  animal,  any  where  existed  in  such  small  varieties. 
While  driving,  the  other  day,  our  carriage  was  run  into  by 
one  of  these  same  donkey  establishments,  the  awkward 
driver  of  which  was,  by  several  sizes,  the  greater  ass  of  the 
two. 

Cattle,  pigs,  and  poultry  are,  as  far  as  I  have  seen,  finer 
here  than  with  us ;  because,  I  suppose,  so  much  more  care- 
fully kept.  There  is,  of  late,  a  rage  for  rare  poultry  here, 
as  in  the  United  States.  Cochin  China  fowls,  in  especial, 
sell  at  a  preposterously  high  price. 

The  EngHsh  home  style  of  living  does  not  differ  widely 
from  our  own,  except  that  it  is  often  simpler,  and  always 
quieter.     I  notice  that  the  table  at  meals  is  usually  decked 


12  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

with    flowers  —  a  beautiful   custom  we    should    do    well    to 
adopt. 

The  manner  of  an  English  gentleman  toward  the  American 
visitor  is  polite  and    considerate,  but  sometimes    a  little  too 
marked.     At  a  dinner    party,  the  other  day,  during  a  little 
playful  discussion  of  Yankee   character,  a  bland  and  benevo- 
lent-looking old  gentleman  at  my  side  informed  me  that  he 
iiad  come  to   the   conclusion   that  the  wooden-nutmeg  story 
was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  mischievous  satire.     "  For," 
said  he,  "  there  would  be  such  an  amount  of  minute  carving 
required  to  make  a  successful  imitation  of  the  nutmeg,  that 
the  deception  would  hardly  pay  the  workman.     For   myself, 
1  do  not  believe  the  cheat  was  ever  practised."     I  thanked 
him  in  the  name  of  my  country  for  the  justice  done  her,  and 
assured  him  that  the  story  of  the  Yankee  liaving  whittled  a 
large  lot  of  unsalable  shoe  pegs  into  melon  seeds,  and    sold 
them  to  the   Canadians,  w^^s  also  a  base  fabrication  of  our 
enemies. 

We  have  curious  weather  —  chill,  driving  showers,  alter- 
nating w^ith  bursts  of  w^arm,  effulgent  sunlight  —  and  often 
sunlight  and  shower  together.  According  to  a  popular  tradi- 
tion of  our  country,  a  certain  gentleman  in  black  is,  at  this 
season,  administering  marital  discipline  with  unusual  fre- 
quency and  severity. 

Evening,  —  We  have  just  returned  from  a  pleasant  drive 
into  the  country,  some  four  or  five  miles,  to  see  the  old 
Handsworth  Church,  and  Chantrey's  monument  to  James 
Watt.  This  is  within  the  church,  but  curtained  off  by  itself; 
is  a  plain,  large,  white  marble  pedestal,  supporting  a  sitting, 
life-size  figure  of  the  great  inventor.  It  is  a  beautiful  work 
of  art,  and  a  form  and  face  of  noble  character. 

The  church  itself  is  a  curiosity  for  its  great  age.  It  con- 
tains some  effigies  in  stone,  said  to  be  more  than  five  hundred 
years  old.     There  is  a  knight  in  complete  armor,  with  a  \ery 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  13 

dandilied  waist  and  enormous  thighs,  and  a  slim  lady,  with  a 
tight-fitting  shroud,  crowded  against  the  wall  behind  him. 
Tlie  good  dame's  frill  has  suffered  some  dilapidation,  and  the 
gallant  knight  is  minus  a  nose. 

The  high,  quaint  old  pews  impressed  me  most.  I  at  once 
imagined  little  David  Copperfield  sitting  in  one  of  them, 
with  his  mother  and  Peggotty.  By  the  way,  you  can  have  no 
idea  of  the  luxury  of  reading  Dickens  in  England. 

On  our  way  back,  we  stopped  for  a  half  hour  at  a  fine 
cemetery,  from  some  heights  of  which  I  caught  my  first  real 
view  of  the  town  in  all  its  industrial  grandeur  and  smoky 
maornificence.  Within  these  grounds  we  encountered  the 
beadle,  in  all  the  pomp  of  his  parish  livery.  He  was  a 
stout  man,  and  of  course  dignified  to  solemnity.  Seeing  him 
unoccupied,  I  ventured  to  make  some  conversation  with  him, 
and  must  acknowledge  that  he  met  my  advances  in  a  most 
gracious  and  un-Bumble-like  manner.  I  asked  him  if  they 
buried  the  poor  in  layers,  and  in  a  common  grave.  "  Yes, 
mem,"  he  replied,  "  but  it  often  'appens,  quite  agreeably,  that 
members  of  the  same  family  go  into  the  same  grave.  When- 
ever we  can,  we  lay  them  together,  or  not  many  bodies  apart 
—  we  try  to  make  them  comfortable^  mem'^ 

A  distant  sight,  beheld  on  our  drive  this  afternoon,  was  a 
new  monastery,  occupied  solely  by  renegade  clergymen  from 
the  church  of  England  —  a  haunt  of  priestly  owls,  scared  by 
the  light  and  freedom  of  the  time  back  into  the  cloistered 
gloom  of  the  dark  ages.  What  a  precious  set  of  cowled 
conservatives  ! 

To-morrow  I  visit  Warwick  Castle,  Kenilworth,  and,  it  may 
be,  Stratford  upon  Avon.  Splendid  stuff  for  dreams,  such 
a  prospect. 

JUNE  18. 

My  first   full   view   of  Warwick    Castle   is   hung   in   my 
memory   a  picture  of  beauty  and  grandeur,  which   must  be 
2 


f4  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

*'  a  joy  forever."  As  we  rode  into  the  old  town,  we  paused 
on  a  noble  stone  bridge  over  the  Avon,  where  the  linest 
view  is  obtained.  It  had  been  raining,  but  the  shower  w,a^ 
now  past,  and  the  sun  out  in  dazzling  radiance.  The  air  was 
freshened  with  a  pleasant  wind,  and  sweetened  with  roses, 
and,  from  the  tower  of  an  old  church  near  by,  mellow-toned 
bells  were  ringing  the  morning  chime.  At  our  left  stood  the 
castle,  with  its  dark,  battlemented  walls,  its  hoary  tuirets.. 
and  gigantic  towers. 

As  the  Earl  of  Warwick  was  at  home,  we  were  obliged  to 
stop  at  the  porter's  lodge,  while  our  cards  were  sent  up  tc 
him,  and  leave  accorded  to  us  to  see  the  castle.  But  we  were 
well  amused  by  the  portress,  who  showed  up  the  famous 
porridge  pot  of  the  redoubtable  Earl  Guy,  with  his  armor, 
sword,  shield,  helmet,  breastplate,  walking  staff,  flesh  fork, 
and  stirrup.  These  are  a  giant's  accoutrements  —  the  sword 
weighs  twenty  pounds,  and  the  armor  of  the  knight  and  that 
of  his  steed  are  in  proportion. 

The  faith  of  the  old  retainer  in  the  marvellous  legends  >tie 
rehearsed  was  quite  edifying.  She  assured  us  that  Earl  Guy 
was  nearly  ten  feet  in  height,  and  that  he  was  accustomed  to 
take  his  food  from  that  identical  porridge  pot,  which  hoidi? 
one  hundred  and  two  gallons,  and  which,  on  the  occasion  M 
the  present  earl's  eldest  son  (Lord  Brooke)  coming  of  ai?«4. 
was  filled  with  punch  three  times  a  day  for  three  days,  %r 
the  people.  After  receiving  his  lordship's  graciously-ac- 
corded permission,  we  passed  up  a  noble  passage,  cut  Id 
solid  rock,  some  eight  or  ten  feet  deep,  and  prettily  ovp,r. 
grown  with  moss  and  ivy,  leading  to  the  outer  court.  A>  I 
walked  slowly  on,  my  thoughts  went  back  three  hundrf*d 
years,  when  knights  and  ladies  gay  went  dashing  up  this  pHf«, 
followed  by  fair  pages  and  fairer  maids,  dainty  minstrels  ^.nH 
jolly  friars,  faithful  esquires  and  stout  men-at-arms.  I  co:ii<i 
almost  hear  the  tramp  of  mail-clad  steeds,  the  light  curvettJi^ 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  15 

of  palfreys,  the  clang  of  armor,  the  jingle  of  gilded  bridles, 
the  laughter  of  young  gallants,  and  the  sweet  voices  of 
merry  dames.  I  could  almost  see  the  waving  of  banners  and 
plumes,  the  flash  of  shields  and  arms,  and  gorgeous  vesture, 
as  the  glory  of  feudal  power  and  the  flush  of  courtly  beauty 
swept  by.  Alas  for  wasted  sentiment !  I  all  too  soon 
ascertained  that  this  rocky  pass  was  constructed  by  the  late 
earl,  the  castle  having  formerly  had  a  different  approach. 

We  passed  over  the  drawbridge,  under  the  portcullis,  into 
the  court  yard,  which  contains  nearly  an  acre.  The  moat  is 
not  filled  with  water,  but  overgrown  with  shrubs  and  grass  of 
the  brightest  green.  We  were  first  shown  into  the  great  hall, 
a  magnificent  apartment,  hung  with  old  armor,  antlers,  &;c. 
Its  deep,  wide  chimney,  with  large  blocks  of  wood  piled  in 
the  corner,  reminded  one  of  the  hospitable  hall  of  Cedric  the 
Saxon ;  but  the  floor  of  tessellated  marble,  and  the  beautiful 
but  evidently  modern  plafond,  effectually  marred  the  antique 
effect  of  the  whole.  From  the  hall  we  were  shown  through 
the  suite  of  state  apartments  —  the  anteroom,  the  cedar 
drawing  room,  the  gilt  room,  the  state  bed  room,  the  state 
dressing  room,  and  the  great  banqueting  hall.  These  were 
all  rich  beyond  description  in  pictures,  marbles,  busts,  vases, 
cabinets  and  tables  exquisitely  inlaid,  curiosities  and  an- 
tiques of  all  sorts.  Among  the  pictures  are  many  which 
my  h^art  stood  still  to  behold.  There  was  Shakspeare, 
Leicester,  Queen  Elizabeth,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Cromwell, 
Prince  Rupert,  (a  glorious  creature  !)  Henrietta  Maria  and 
her  children,  and  a  choice  number  of  England  s  immortal 
decapitated  —  Anne  Boleyn,  Earl  of  Essex,  Strafford,  Mont- 
rose, Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  and  "  Charles  the  Martyr,"  who, 
according  to  Catholic  tradition,  presented  himself  to  St.  Peter 
with  his  head,  not  his  heart,  in  his  hand. 

The  finest  pictures  in  the  collection  are,  I  think,  by  Van- 
dyke.    Nothing,  surely,  can  be  grander,  in  the  way  of  a  pop 


16  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

trait,  than  his  equestrian  picture  of  Charles  T.,  which  hangs 
at  the  end  of  a  corridor  by  itself.  The  state  bed  room, 
where  stands  the  famous  bed  of  Queen  Anne,  a  splendid, 
comfortless-looking  affair,  is  hung  with  quaint,  faded  tapestry, 
made  at  Brussels  in  1604.  The  state  dressing  room  is  an 
exquisite  little  apartment,  hung  with  small  but  valuable  paint- 
ings ;  its  windows  command  some  lovely  views,  and  Lady  War- 
wick has  shown  good  taste  in  appropriating  it  as  a  boudoir. 

Tlie  armory  is  a  curious,  heterogeneous  collection,  com- 
prising, it  seemed  to  me,  every  weapon  of  personal  offence 
and  defence,  of  every  age,  over  the  whole  world.  There 
hung  the  crossbow  of  an  ancient  Briton  by  the  tomahawk  of 
an  American  Indian  ;  a  light,  richly-mounted  modern  rifle 
beside  the  heavy  battle  axe  of  a  Crusader ;  and  next  to  the 
velvet-sheathed  dagger  of  Queen  Elizabeth  lay  one  of  Colt's 
murderous  revolvers.  In  short,  the  long,  high  armory  seems 
one  chaotic  mass  of  all  the  instruments  of  war  and  assassina- 
tion which  the  genius  of  man,  aided  by  infernal  inspiration, 
has  yet  been  able  to  devise. 

On  our  way  up  to  the  billiard  room,  we  were  shown  the 
splendid  trappings  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  horse,  perchance 
those  he  wore  at  Kenil worth  ;  and  on  the  billiard  table  lay 
her  maiden  majesty's  fiddle,  a  curiously-carved  instrument, 
in  an  old  worm-iaten  case. 

As  our  time  was  limited,  we  did  not  ascend  either  of  the 
towers,  or  pass  along  the  walls  ;  but  we  visited  the  green- 
house, w^here  we  saw  the  famous  Warwick  vase,  brought 
from  Adrian's  villa,  Tivoli,  by  Sir  William  Hamilton ;  and 
afterwards  strolled  through  the  grounds  for  a  time  —  alas  1 
too  short  a  time.  .  Trees  more  beautiful  and  stately  never 
caught  the  sunlight  on  their  glistening  leaves,  never  answered 
the  winds  with  continuous  murmurs,  or  cast  a  gracious  shade 
on  the  earth.  The  cedars  of  Lebanon  gave  me  a  sort  of 
religious  joy  and  awestruck  admiration — flung  their  beaut^p 
on  my  soul  like  solenm  shadows. 


A   TOUR   IN   EUROPE.  17 

St.  Mary's  Church,  Warwick,  is  principally  celebrated  for 
its  beautiful  chapel,  and  as  containing  the  Beauchamp  tombs. 
In  the  chancel  are  the  marble  effigies  of  Thomas  Beauchamp, 
Earl  of  Warwick,  and  his  countess,  Catharine  Mortimer ;  of 
their  son  Thomas,  and  his  countess  — "  they  four,  and  no 
more."  The  sarcophagus  of  the  poet,  Sir  Fulke  Grevil,  ia 
in  the  chapter  house.  It  contains  this  pithy  inscription : 
"  Fulke  Grevil,  servant  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  councillor  to 
King  James,  and  friend  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  Trophceitm 
peccatir 

The  Beauchamp  Chapel,  famous  for  its  exquisite  Gothic 
architecture  and  splendid  windows,  contains  monuments  and 
effigies  of  two  Earls  of  Warwick,  of  Robert  Dudley,  Earl  of 
Leicester,  and  of  Lettice,  his  third  countess.  The  figures  of 
the  last  two  are  dressed  and  cclored  as  in  life.  They  seem  to 
have  stretched  themselves  out  for  a  sort  of  stiffened  siesta. 
Strangely  enough,  I  felt  an  involuntary  indignation  against 
them  both,  on  poor  Amy  Robsart's  account.  Opposite  is  the 
tomb  of  Leicester's  infant  son,  who  was  heir  to  eight  titles  when 
h2  died.  This  "  noble  imper  as  the  inscription  calls  him,  was 
impiously  poisoned  by  his  nurse ;  but  he  may  have  escaped 
the  scaffold  in  this  way  —  who  knows?  He  is  a  pretty  child 
as  he  lies  there,  like  a  stately  little  petrifaction. 

From  Warwick  we  drove  to  Stratford  on  Avon,  about  eight 
miles,  by  a  pleasant  and  quiet  road. 

I  cannot  hope  to  give  in  their  fulness  the  feelings  with 
which  I  approached  this  shrine  of  my  highest  intellectual 
worship  ;  to  tell  how  every  hill  and  green-shadowed  vale,  and 
old  tree,  and  the  banks  of  that  almost  sacred  river,  spoke 
to  my  hushed  heart  of  him  who  once  trod  that  earth,  and 
breathed  that  air,  and  watched  the  silver  flowing  of  that 
fiiream ;  of  him  whose  mind  was  a  fount  of  wisdom  and 
thought,  at  which  generation  after  generation  has  drunk,  and 
yet  it  fails  not ;  of  him  wliose  wondrous  creative  genius 
2* 


18  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

passed  not  alone  into  grand  and  terrible  forms  of  human  and 
superhuman  power,  nor  personations  of  manly  wit,  royal 
courtesy,  and  warlike  courage  ;  but  who  made  himself  master 
of  all  the  mysteries  of  the  feminine  soul  of  Nature,  called  into 
being  a  world  of  love  and  poetry,  and  peopled  it  with  beau- 
tiful immortals ;  of  him  whose  bold  yet  delicate  hand  swept 
every  chord  in  man's  variable  nature,  to  whom  the  soul  of 
childhood  gave  up  its  tender  little  secrets,  from  whose  eye 
nothing  was    hid   even  in  the  deepest  heart  of  woman liood. 

I  knew  the  house  —  I  should  have  known  it  any  where, 
from  plates  and  descriptions.  We  passed  through  the  shop 
into  what  seemed  to  have  been  a  sort  of  family  room.  Here 
I  felt  disposed  to  linger,  for  in  that  deep  chimney  corner  he 
must  have  sat  often,  in  winter  nights,  dreaming  the  dreams 
that  have  since  filled  the  world.  Perhaps  he  there  saw,  in 
the  glowing  embers,  the  grotesque  and  horrible  faces  of  Cal- 
iban and  the  weird  sisters,  or  the  delicate  forms  of  Ariel  and 
Titania,  floating  in  the  wreathed  smoke,  and  heard  in  .the 
rain  without  the  pitiless  storm  which  beat  upon  the  .head 
of  Lear. 

We  ascended  a  short,  narrow  flight  of  stairs,  and  stood  in 
the  birth  chamber  of  Shakspeare  !  the  humble  little  room 
■where  his  infant  heart  took  up  that  throb  which  had  in  it  so 
much  of  the  intellectual  life  of  the  ages  to  come.  As  I  stood 
silently  there,  I  was  almost  pained  with  a  vain  wonderment 
as  to  the  mother  of  Shakspeare.  Was  she  great  hearted  and 
large  minded  —  fully  worthy  of  the  glory  which  rays  back 
upon  her  ?  Did  no  instinctive  pride  stir  grandly  in  her 
bosom,  as  she  laid  against  it  fii-st  her  new-born  ciiild  ?  Did 
no  prophetic  glorying  mingle  with  her  sweet  maternal  joy? 

The  entire  house  is  small  and  simple  even  to  meanness ; 
and  yet  it  has  ever  been,  and  must  I  e  while  it  stands,  the 
"  pilgrim  shrine  "  of  genius,  and  wealth,  and  rank,  and  royal- 
ty, where  the  humble  and  great  of  all  nations  do  homage  to  a 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  19 

monarch  of  the  human  mind,  absolute  and  undeposable.  As 
I  emerged  from  this  low,  dark  house,  which  I  hold  should  be 
dearer  to  P^ngland  than  any  palace  of  her  kings,  and  walked 
towards  the  Cliurch  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  I  was  disagreeably 
struck  by  the  smart,  insolent  newness  of  some  of  the  build- 
ings on  my  way,  and  by  the  modern  dress  and  air  of  the 
people.  How  I  hated  the  flaring  shop  windows,  with  their 
display  of  cheap  ribbons,  and  prints,  and  flashy  silks.  But  I 
was  comforted  by  the  sight  of  a  goodly  number  of  quaint 
and  moss-grown  houses,  and  I  could  have  blessed  a  company 
of  stroUing  players  and  ballad  singers,  who  had  collected  a 
gaping  crowd  in  an  open  square,  for  being  in  harmony  some- 
what with  the  place.  I  could  have  willed  Stratford  and  all 
its  inhabitants  to  have  been  wrapped  forever  in  a  charmed 
sleep,  like  that  of  the  fairy  tale,  when  Shakspeare  was  laid  to 
his  rest  in  that  picturesque  old  church  on  the  banks  of  the 
Avon.  Nature  seems  nowhere  unharmonious  with  one's 
poetic  memories  of  him  —  you  could  almost  believe  that  the 
trees,  and  the  grass,  and  even  the  flowers,  were  of  his  day.  I 
remember  a  rich  June  rose,  hanging  over  a  hedge,  its  warm 
leaves  glowing  through  glistening  raindrops,  and  that  it 
seemed  to  me  he  might  have  looked  into  the  heart  of  this 
rose,  and  dreamed  ®f  the  passion-freighted  heart  of  Juliet. 
We  entered  the  church,  passed  up  into  the  chancel,  and  stood 
before  the  bust  and  above  the  ashes  of  Shakspeare. 

On  our  return  to  Warwick,  we  found  that  we  had  not  time 
sufficient  for  a  visit  to  Kenilworth  Castle.  I  am  intending  to 
"  do "  that,  on  my  way  to  London,  next  week,  together  with 
the  famous  old  town  of  Coventry,  where  the  benevolent 
Lady  Godiva  once  took  an  airing  on  horseback,  not  for  her 
health,  but  for  the  common  weal. 

Sunday  afternoon.  — -  I  attended  worship  this  morning  in 
the  old  parish  church  of  Edgbaston.      I  chop*i  this  because  T 


20  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS. 

was  told  it  was  a  beautiful,  antique,  ivy-clad,  foliage-embow- 
ered little  building.  I  found  it  all  this  —  the  very  ideal  of  a 
country  church,  half  hid  among  the  trees,  and  calling  sweet- 
ly to  worship  with  most  melodious  bells ;  but  the  service  was 
more  than  two  hours  long !  The  beadle  in  his  red  livery 
and  baton,  striding  pompously  up  and  down  the  aisle,  a  terror 
to  all  sniffling  little  boys  and  coughing  old  paupers,  struck  me 
most  ludicrously  :  the  sermon  was  weak,  and  the  delivery 
weaker;  and,  on  the  whole,  1  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
when  next  I  wished  to  see  a  country  church  for  its  picturesque 
situation  and  ivy-mantled  tower,  I  would  choose  a  week  day 
for  my  visit. 

To-morrow  I  am  to  have  my  first  sight  of  an  English 
cathedral.  I  wonder  if,  in  its  consecrated  precincts,  I  shall 
feel  any  awe-struck  remorse  for  my  present  irreverence ;  or  if, 
like  most  tourists,  I  shall  forget  all  such  things  as  personal 
religious  sentiments  in  admiration  of  its  architectural  propor- 
tions, sculpture,  and  stained  glass.     Nous  verrons. 


CHAPTE  R   II. 

NOTTINQFAM.  —  LiNCOLN.  —  NeWSTEAD.  —  HuCKNALL KENILWORXa 

—  London.  —  Barry  Cornwall.  — Westminster  Abbey.  --  Thk 
City.  —  Mr.  Cobden.  —  Hyde  Park.  —  Houses   of  PARLIAME^T. 

—  LoRB  Carlisle.  —  Mary^  Howitt.  —  Prorogation  of   Parlia- 
ment. = —  The  Queen.  —  Martin  Tupi'er.  —  Miss  Mitford. 

June  23. 
The  old  castle  of  Nottingham,  which  figures  so  largely  in 
history,  occupied  a  grand  site,  and,  judging  from  the  outlines 
as  they  can  now  be  traced,  and  by  a  gateway  and  lodge  still 
standing,  must  have  been  a  strong  and  noble  feudal  edifice. 
It  was  destroyed  in  Cromwell's  time.  Tlie  building,  standing, 
though  in  ruins,  was  built  in  1679,  in  the  dull,  ugly  style  of 
that  period ;  it  has  no  pretension  to  the  name  of  castle,  and 
not  even  its  lofty  site,  one  hundred  and  thirty-three  feet  above 
the  meadows,  nor  ruin,  nor  ivy,  can  make  it  picturesque  or 
venerable.  The  only  interest  attached  to  it  is,  that  it  was  the 
residence  of  Queen  Anne  in  her  shadowed  days,  and  was 
finally  burned  and  demolished  in  the  mobs  of  1831,  in  a 
popular  outbreak  against  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  for  voting 
against  the  Reform  Bill.  But  the  old  castle  was  a  famous 
place.  It  was  built  by  William  the  Conqueror,  on  an  immense 
rock,  perforated  witli  druidical  vaults,  caverns,  and  long,  wind- 
ing passages.  It  was  a  favorite  place  of  residence,  or  visita- 
tion, and  a  stronghold  of  power  with  all  the  old  English  kings, 
and  swarms  with  historical  associations,  and  strange,  dismal  le- 
gends. Here  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  held  his  first  council  after 
his  return  from  the  Holy  Land  ;  here  the  cowardly  King  John 
often   shut  himself  up,  out  of  the  way  of  his  stern  barons  ; 

(21) 


22  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

here  the  voluptuous  Queen  Isabella  held  lier  court,  and  through 
tho&3  dark,  secret  passages,  leading  from  the  meadows  below, 
came  her  adventurous  lover,  Roger  de  Mortimer,  to  keep  his 
perilous  appointments ;  here  he  was  taken  by  Edward  the 
Third ;  here  Henry  the  Fourth  often  came  in  state,  and  here 
Owen  Glendower  was  imprisoned.  Richard  the  Third  fre- 
quently held  his  court  here,  and  here  he  first  heard  of  the 
landing  of  Richmond  in  England;  through  that  same  old  gate- 
way he  set  forth  for  the  march  which  closed  on  Bosworth 
Field.  The  first  Charles  here  planted  his  standard  in  1642 
—  an  ominous  storm  blew  it  down  that  night;  here  he  was 
brought,  a  prisoner,  in    1646. 

The  view  from  the  castle  terrace  is  exceedingly  fine,  com- 
prising a  vast  extent  of  waving  grain  fields,  and  meadows,  and 
wooded  hills,  beautified  by  silvery  streams,  sweet  rural  vil- 
lages, picturesque  old  churches,  and  elegant  residences. 

We  w^ere  greatly  pleased  with  a  drive  about  the  town,  which 
has  some  fine  churches,  and  a  goodly  number  of  literary,  sci- 
entific, and  charitable  institutions.  We  saw  "  Gallows  Hill," 
where  Robin  Hood  and  Little  John  released  Will  Stukely,  and 
hung  *'  the  proud  sheriff"  in  his  stead,  and  the  house  in  which 
Henry  Kirke  White  was  born.  Nottingham  is  peculiarly  fa- 
vored in  being  the  natal  dating-place  of  poets.  Thomas  Bailey, 
and  his  son,  Philip  "  Festus "  Bailey,  William  and  Mary 
Howitt,  Thomas  Miller,  the  "  basket  maker,"  and  a  score  of 
others  more  or  less  distinguished,  were  born  in  the  shadow 
of  "  the  great  rock." 

On  our  way  to  Lincoln,  we  passed  the  residence  of  Sir 
Robert  Peel,  and  the  ruins  of  Newark  Castle,  which  show  oddly 
in  the  midst  of  the  busy  town,  hard  by  the  railway  station. 
Lincoln  is  built  on  the  rocky  site  of  an  old  Roman  city;  and 
here,  for  the  first  time,  I  saw  Roman  arches,  roads,  and  pave- 
m  mts. 

The  ruins  of  Lincoln  Castle  and  of  the  Episcopal  Palace 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  23 

are  the  finest  I  have  yet  seen ;  but  every  thing  sinks  into  in- 
significance beside  the  maornificent  cathedral.  We  ascended 
to  the  top  of  the  great  tower.  0,  such  a  fearful  "  getting  up 
stairs ! "  But  the  grand  prospect  from  the  summit  well  re- 
paid us  for  our  toil  and  loss  of  breath. 

On  descending,  we  found  one  or  two  prebendaries,  and  a  little 
crowd  of  white-gowned  boys,  performing  service  in  the  chapel. 
We  heard  the  organ  rolling  its  melodious  thunder  through  the 
solemn  arches,  and  the  choristers  singing  a  beautiful  anthem. 
But,  beyond  the  solemnity  of  sound,  the  grandeur  of  noble 
music,  the  English  worship  struck  me  as   utterly  unsuited  to 
the  splendor  of  old  Catholic  cathedrals.     It  has  form  without 
poetry,  ceremony  without  mystery.     It  is  wanting  in  the  ideal 
and  picturesque ;  and  so^  to  the  outward  eye  at  least,  compara- 
tively cold  and  tasteless.     There  is  a  dreary  bareness,  an  in- 
completeness, about  a  vast  cathedral  like   this,  without  the 
warmth  and  glory  spread  abroad  by  pictures  of  saints  and 
"  the  Virgin  of  virgins,"  without  the  grace  of  sculpture,  the 
pomp  of  gorgeous  priestly  robes,  the  silvery  wreaths  of  in- 
cense, the  radiance  of  illuminated  altars,  and,  above  all,  the 
presence  of  a  kneeling  crowd  of  fervent  and  humble  worship- 
pers.    If  we  are  to  have  a  religion  of  form,  let  it  be  the  per 
fectvQn  of  form,  say  many  in  these  days  ;  if  we  are  to  worship 
through  the  outward  and  visible,  let  at  least  our  types  and 
symbols  be  beautiful  and  harmonious.      In  a  country  of  con- 
fiscated cathedrals,  and  churches  denuded  and  despoiled  of 
their  fitting  and  legendary  accessories,  I  can  easily  understand 
this  Puseyite  reaction.     Though  it  is  undoubtedly  in  many 
directions  a  strike  for  power,  it  is  in  some  a  mere  rebellion  of 
taste.     This  sentimental  passion  for  all  things  mediaeval,  from 
the  illuminated  prayer  book  of  the  noble  lady  to  the  Gothic 
red-brick  country  house  of  the  retired  grocer  —  this  rage  for 
mouldy  tapestry,  ingeniously-uncomfortable  chairs,  and  hideous 
old  saints  in  stained  glass,  is  a  part  of  the    same  religious 
back  set. 


24  HAPS    AND    MISHAfS    OP 

We  returned  to  Nottingham  in  the  evening.  Mr.  Sturgt 
here  left  me  with  some  kind  friends,  with  whom  I  spent  the 
night,  and  who  in  the  morning  accompanied  me  to  Newstead. 

I  never  can  forget  that  morning.  The  air  was  soft  and 
warm,  though  a  fresh,  invigorating  breeze  was  blowing,  and 
elouds  were  drifting  occasionally  across  the  sun.  "We  were  in 
an  open  carriage,  and,  for  once,  our  simple  faith  was  rewarded, 
and  we  had  no  rain  to  dampen  our  enthusiasm.  Our  road  led 
through  a  country  which  my  friends  pronounced  bleak  and 
dreary,  but  to  my  eyes  it  was  beautiful  for  its  neatness  and 
greenness,  its  peculiarly  English  character,  and  for  its  wild, 
legendary  associations  —  for  it  Was  the  ground  once  haunted 
by  Robin  Hood  and  his  "  merrie  men  "  —  the  old  forest  of 
Sherwood.  In  front  of  the  gate,  at  the  entrance  of  New- 
stead  Park,  stands  a  grand  old  guardian  oak.  Passing  this, 
you  enter  a  long,  noble  avenue  of  firs  ;  then  you  come  upon 
an  open  piece  of  ground,  covered  with  wild  fern  —  then  upon 
some  fine  trees  —  then  the  lake  —  then  the  abbey  !  This 
was  to  me  both  more  imposing  and  beautiful  than  I  expected 
to  find  it.  The  larger  part  of  the  building  has  been  wonder- 
fully and  completely  restored  by  the  present  owner,  Colonel 
Wildman  ;  and  the  remaining  ruins  are  of  so  light  and  grace- 
ful a  character,  and  so  richly  clad  with  ivy,  that  they  give  a 
decorative,  rather  than  a  desolate,  look  to  the  Avhole. 

An  intelligent  housekeeper  showed  us  through  the  abbey. 
First  we  entered  the  drawing  room,  —  a  fine  apartment,  hung 
with  elegant  pictures,  —  among  which  I  only  saw,  with  the 
eyes  of  my  heart,  Phillips's  fine  portrait  of  Byron,  the  real 
master  of  Newstead  forever.  In  this  room  the  housekeeper 
took  from  a  costly  cabinet  the  famous  and  fearful  skull  wine 
cup.  I  will  not  pause  to  describe  all  the  beautiful  show  apart- 
ments of  the  abbey  ;  those  which  interested  me  most  were 
the  breakfast  room,  once  used  by  Byron  as  a  dining  room,  and 
his  own  chamber,  which  is  kept  precisely  as  he  left  it.     This 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPK.  25 

last  is  small  and  simply  furnished,  hung  with  some  views  of 
Cambridge  and  an  engraved  likeness  of  Fox.  From  the 
window  is  one  of  the  loveliest  views  imaginable,  and  one  rec- 
ognizes at  once  the  taste  of  the  poet  in  the  choice  of  his 
chamber.  No  guest  ever  occupies  this  room,  except  a  younger 
brother  of  Colonel  Wildman,  who  was  Lord  Byron's  fag  at 
Hari-ow,  and  holds  that  he  has  a  right  to  the  honor  of  sleeping 
in  the  muse-haunted  chamber  of  his  illustrious  tyrant. 

Strangely  sorrowful,  almost  agonizingly  legretful,  were  the 
thoughts  which  swept  over  my  mind,  wave  after  wave,  and 
shook  my  heart  like  a  tempest,  as  I  stood  in  the  place  where 
the  young  poet  passed  many  of  his  hours  of  silent  thought,  it 
may  be  of  lonely  wretchedness.  Here  he  must  often  have 
contemplated  his  ruined  fortunes  and  the  desolated  home 
of  his  fathers.  Here  surely  his  passionate  heart  often  turned 
with  a  fond,  vain  yearning  toward  the  "  hills  of  Annesley  "  — 
toward  her 

"  who  was  his  ufe. 
The  ocean  to  the  river  of  his  thoughts." 

I  never  before  so  deeply  felt  how  passing  mournful  was  the 
story  of  Byron's  first  and  only  love.     That  Mary  Chaworth 
returned  the  passion  of  her  young  poet  lover,  I  have  not  a 
doubt ;  but,  like  the  Montagues  and  Capulets,  the  houses  ol 
Chaworth   and    Byi^n  were   at   feud.      Mary  had   not  the 
strength  and  truth  of  Juliet,  and  so  they  were  parted  —  a  sep- 
aration by  far  more  piteous  for  her,  and  more  fatal  to  him, 
than  death  amid'  the  full  summer  brightness  of  happy  love. 
This,  not  Shakspeare's,  was  the  true  soul  tragedy.     Might  she 
not  have  taken  the  helm  of  his  passion-tossed  spirit,  and  guided 
it  into  deeper  and  calmer  waters  ?     Might  she  not  have  re- 
deemed even  his  wayward  and  erring  nature  by  the  divinity 
of  a  pure  love  and  a  steadfast  faith  ?     But  it  was  not  to  be. 
Mary  \  estowed  her  hand  upon  a  man  of  whom  little  better 


26  HAPS    A^D    MISHAPS    OF 

can  be  said  than  that  he  ranked  "  among  ihe  most  eminent 
sportsmen  of  the  day"  —  hved,  it  is  said,  to  weep  wild  tears 
over  the  words  which  have  linked  her  name  in  sorrowful  im- 
mortality with  her  lover's,  and  died  in  broken  heartedness,  at 
last  —  while  he,.grown  reckless,  restless,  and  defiant,  the  very 
core  of  his  heart  turned  to  bitter  ashes,  fororettinsr  his  God, 
and  distrusting  and  despising  his  brother,  swept  on  his  glori- 
ous, shameful,  sorrowful,  and  stormy  career,  till  the  shadows 
deepened,  and  the  long  night  clo-^ed  in. 

The  village  of  Ilucknall  is  the  most  wretched  little  hamlet 
I  have  yet  seen  in  England  ;  and  the  small,  mean,  dilapidated 
old  church  above  the  vault  of  the  Byron  family  has  not  one 
venerable  or  picturesque  feature. 

The  tablet  raised  to  the  memory  of  Byron,  by  his  sister 
Augusta,  is  plain,  and  so  in  excellent  taste.  As  I  stood  on 
that  rude  slab,  in  that  dismal  and  mouldy  old  church,  I  was 
struck  most  painfully  with  the  miserable  unfitness  of  all  the 
surroundings  of  his  tomb,  who  loved  all  beauty  with  a  poet's 
intense  passion.  I  could  not  believe  that  that  grand  head, 
with  its  clustering  dark  curls,  those  eyes  of  strange  bright- 
ness, and  lips  of  proud  beauty,  those  fair,  patrician  hands, 
and  that  fiery  and  princely  heart,  were  dust  and  darkness  at 
my  feet.  Better  would  it  have  been  to  have  laid  him,  where 
he  willed  to  lie,  by  his  faithful  "  Boatswain,"  in  the  vault  at 
Newstead. 

I  have  not  spoken  as  fully  of  the  abbey  and  grounds  of 
Newstead  as  I  should  have  done  had  I  not  believed  every  one 
familiar  with  Washington  Irving's  charming  account  and  the 
notes  of  many  other  tourists.  I  must  allow  myself  to  say, 
however,  that  the  restoration  of  the  abbey  seems  to  me  a 
miracle  of  good  taste  and  artistic  adaptation  ;  that  the  build 
in;j  now  is  a  rare  combination  of  antique  picturesqueness,  with 
modern  elegance,  of  cheeiful  home  comfort,  with  an  almost 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  27 

monastic  quiet  and  seclusion.  Colonel  "Wildman  was  9 
schoolmate  and  friend  of  Byron,  and  lovingly,  almost  re- 
ligiously, preserves  every  relic  and  remembrancer  of  th^ 
poet. 

At  Nottingham,  I  reluctantly  took  leave  of  my  kind  new 
friends,  (whom  God  love !)  and  came  home  to  Edgbaston. 

London,  June  25. 

I  left  Birmingham  yesterday,  amid  the  brightness  and  fresh- 
ness of  one  of  the  loveliest  mornings  I  ever  beheld,  for  an 
excursion  to  Kenilworth,  with  a  party  of  pleasant  friends,  con- 
sisting of  two  charming  Quakeresses,  with  a  world  of  unwrit- 
ten poetry  in  their  deep,  quiet  natures,  and  a  sweet  little  girl, 
who  flitted  about  among  the  ruins  like  a  bird  or  a  butterfly, 
enjoying  their  beauty,  and  unconscious  of  their  desolation. 

The  old  castle  of  Kenilworth  far  surpassed  my  imaginings  in 
the  grandeur  of  its  yet  unlevelled  walls  and  towers,  the  loveli- 
ness of  its  surroundings,  and  the  strong  spell  of  its  associations. 
It  was  enough  to  make  one  in  love  with  ruin,  and  more  than 
forgiving  towards  the  spoiler.  The  air  seemed  now  throbbing 
with  the  proud  glory  of  Elizabeth,  now  heavy  with  the  sighs  of 
poor  Amy  Robsart.  As  I  lingered  on  the  spot  where  stood 
the  ancient  gateway  through  wliich  passed  that  memorable 
procession,  the  gorgeous  Queen  Bess,  escorted  by  her  hand- 
some favorite,  the  magnificent  Earl  Leicester,  and  followed 
by  her  brilliant  court  and  the  bravest  and  proudest  men  of  her 
realm,  I  could  defy  death  and  decay,  long  wasting  years, 
desolating  wars,  and  ivy-mantled  ruins,  to  shut  from  my  sight 
the  life  and  splendor  of  that  princely  pageant.  So  with  "  that 
inward  eye"  could  I  gaze  pityingly  on  sweet  Amy,  as  she  sat 
alone  in  Mervyn's  tower,  feeling  her  heart  bleeding  and  faint- 
ing within  her  with  wounded  pride  and  the  agonized  forebod- 
ing of  her  fond  and  fatal  love.  O,  time,  and  death,  and  ruin 
are  remorseless  levellers.    The  ivy  whispers  as  mournfully  of 


28  IIArS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

the  crowned  sovereign  in  the  gateway  as  of  the  deserted  wife 
in  the  tower ;  for  both  had  weak  woman  hearts,  and  both  were 
deceived. 

After  returning  from  Kenilworth,  we  spent  some  hours  with 
kind  friends  at  Coventry,  where  we  visited  St.  Andrew's 
Church,  St.  Mary's  Hall,  and  an  old  hospital,  of  which  I  for- 
get the  name  —  all  fine  antique  and  picturesque  structures, 
charmingly  blackened  by  time,  and  in  a  delightful  state  of 
dilapidation. 

I  am  now  about  to  take  my  plunge  into  the  surging  tide  of 
London  life.  I  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  give  a  very  clear 
transcript  of  my  impressions  till  the  first  shock  and  bewilder- 
ment are  past.  Thus  far,  my  head  seems  dizzied  and  my 
lieart  drunken  with  the  very  atmosphere  of  London,  sur- 
charged, as  it  seems,  with  the  grandest,  fearfullest,  proudest, 
and  mournfullest  memories  of  our  common  race  ;  for  I  tell  my 
English  friends  that  the  great  far  past  is    ours  as  well   as 

theirs. 

June  30.    , 

On  Friday  morning  I  had  the  pleasure  of  breakfasting  with 
the  poet  Barry  Cornwall,  —  born  Procter,  —  at  the  rooms  of 

my  friend  Mr.  F .     I  found  this  prince  of  song  writers  a 

most  agreeable  person,  a  little  shy  and  reserved  at  first,  but 
truly  genial  and  kindly  at  heart,  and  with  a  vein  of  quaint 
humor  running  through  his  quiet,  low-toned  talk.  It  gave 
me  quite  a  new  sensation  to  hear  personal  recollections  of  such 
men  as  Byron,  Moore,  "Wordsworth,  Keats,  Coleridge,  and 
Charles  Lamb.  Of  the  latter,  Mr.  Procter  related  some  new 
anecdotes,  giving  his  peculiar  delicious  drolleries  in  a  manner 
Burely  not  unworthy  of  Elia  himself.  Since  I  have  been  in 
England,  I  have  read  some  of  the  prose  of  Barry  Cornwall. 
Like  the  prose  of  most  poets,  it  is  singularly  picturesque  and 
imaginative.  The  articles  I  have  read,  though  not  poetry, 
press  so  close  on  to  poetry  that  they  have  much  of  its  rarest 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  29 

essence.  Like  the  leaves  that  grow  next  full-blossomed  flow- 
ers and  luscious  fruit,  they  have  about  them  the  true  divine 
fragrance  and  flavor. 

After  breakfast  I  walked  out  with  Mr.  F ,  and,  almost 

ere  I  was  aware,  was  standing  in  front  of  Westminster  Abbey. 
For  emotions  like  those  which  shook  my  heart,  for  thoughts 
which  poured  over  my  spirit,  there  are  no  words  in  any  hu- 
mar.  lano^uaofe.  It  was  not  the  sombre  grandeur  of  the  min- 
ster  \Nhich  fell  upon  me  with  most  power,  but  the  shadows  of 
dead  ages  that  haunted  it. 

The  architecture  without  is  so  vast  and  noble,  yet  so  grace- 
ful and  aerial,  it  seems  like  grand,  religious  aspirations  and 
fine  poetic  dreams  petrified  and  fixed  there  for  all  time.  With- 
in, so  exquisite  and  elaborate  is  the  sculpture  and  carvinoj  that 
they  hardly  seem  of  human  workmanship  ;  and  you  are  half 
tempted  to  believe  that,  by  some  olden  miracle,  the  senseless 
stone  silently  put  forth  those  cherub  faces,  and  that  the  dark 
wood  budded  and  blossomed  and  wreathed  itself  into  all  those 
countless  combinations  and  convolutions  of  beauty  and  grace. 

The  painted  glass  of  the  noble  windows  pours  all  the  glory 
of  life  into  the  solemn  interior  of  this  palace  of  tombs.  One 
great  circular  window  seemed  to  me  like  a  whirlpool  of  gor- 
geous bloon?s,  or  a  coiled  rainbow. 

We  entered  at  the  south  transept,  — "  Poets'  Corner,"  — 
and  found  ourselves  standing  before  the  simple  monuments  of 
Jonson,  ("rare  Ben,")  Butler,  Milton,  Spenser,  and  Gray. 
From  these  we  silently  and  reverently  passed  to  those  of  Dry- 
den,  Chaucer,  Shakspeare,  Thomson,  Gay,  Goldsmith,  Handel, 
Addison,  Garrick,  Johnson,  and  Sheridan.  O,  how  the  im- 
mortal genius  of  poet,  and  wit,  and  orator,  and  rare  player 
seemed  to  hover  exultant  on  that  solemn  air  !  How  the  dead 
lords  of  mind  seemed  to  rule  us  from  their  graves,  to  sway  the 
wild  pulses  of  our  living  hearts,  and  to  bow  our  heads,  borne 
3* 


30  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

high  in  the  pride  of  life,  low  and  sad  before  the  mouldering 
formless  dust  of  theirs  ! 

In  the  south  aisle  -of  Henry  VII.'s  chapel  we  were  showr 
the  stately  monument  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  This  is  a 
fine  recumbent  statue,  in  which  the  face  is  very  beautiful, 
chough  worn  and  weary  looking.  In  the  north  aisle  is  the 
tomb  of  Elizabeth,  and  Mary  of  the  sanguinary  sobriquet. 
The  maiden  queen  is  here  sculptured  in  her  royal  robes  and 
preposterous  ruff. 

The  old  royal  tombs  have  much  barbaric  grandeur  about 
them,  are  a  stately  acceptation  of  mortality,  but  there  are  few 
of  them  at  all  in  accordance  with  our  ideas  of  artistic  beauty. 
The  figure  of  Queen  Eleanor,  however,  I  remember  as  very 
beautiful. 

Of  the  modern  sculpture,  I  was  most  impressed  with  the 
statues  of  the  Duke  de  Montpensier,  by  Westmacott;  of 
Sir  John  Malcolm  and  George  Canning,  by  Chantrey ;  of  Mrs. 
Warren,  by  Westmacott ;  and  by  the  splendid  monuments  to 
Chatham  and  Mansfield,  by  Bacon  and  Flaxman. 

One  is  struck  throughout  the  abbey  by  the  prominent  places 
awarded  to,  and  the  monumental  honors  heaped  upon,  military 
and  naval  heroes.  The  great  writers  are  crowded  into  a  nar- 
row corner ;  while  the  great  fighters  have  every  where  plenty 
of  sea  room  and  field  room  to  set  up  their  immortal  battle 
show,  and  plant  their  guns  and  unfurl  their  flags  over  yards 
on  yards  of  sculptured  wall. 

The  sitting  statue  of  Wilberforce,  in  position  and  expres- 
sion, is  ludicrously  characteristic  and  unclassical.  It  gives 
you  an  odd  feeling  to  turn  from  the  cross-legged  carelessness 
of  its  attitude  to  the  cross-legged  stateliness  of  some  knight 
Templar.  It  affects  one  strangely  to  go  from  the  white  array 
of  these  modern  works  of  art  into  the  shadowy  chapel  of  Ed- 
ward the  Confessor —  to  look  up^Yard  to  the  mediaeval  dark- 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  31 

ness  of  the  far,  vast  roof,  and  around  upon  the  quaint  and 
blackened  tombs  of  ancient  kings. 

I  think  I  was  most  painfully  impressed  in  the  chapel  where 
the  kniojhts  of  the  Bath  were  installed.  Above  the  seats  of 
the  knights  hang  their  swords  and  shields,  and  droop  their 
faded  banners.  As  I  stood  and  dreamed,  I  heard  the  peal  of 
trumpets,  the  cry  of  heralds,  the  stately  tramp  of  mail-clad 
men  —  I  saw  those  high-set  banners  sway  and  flatter,  as  each 
stalwart  knight  clanged  down  into  his  seat.  The  place  seemed 
haunted  with  mailed,  visored,  and  dark-plumed  ghosts.  The 
coronation  chairs  are  ugly,  uncomfortable  articles  of  royal  fur- 
niture ;  and  the  famous  stone  on  which  all  the  old  kings  of 
Scotland  were  crowned  is  but  a  rough,  plebeian  piece  of  red- 
dish-gray sandstone. 

On  leaving  the  abbey,  we  visited  grand  old  Westminster 
Hall,  —  the  scene  of  innumerable  kingly  banquets,  —  whose 
gorgeous  Gothic  roof  has  echoed  loyal  shouts,  and  rung  with 
royal  revelry,  through  reign  after  reign,  and  century  after  cen- 
tury- 

After  a  lengthened  outside  survey  of  the  new  Houses  of 
Parliament,  that  "  latter-day  glory  "  of  Gothic  architecture, 
we  drove  into  the  city,  passing  through  the  old  gateway.  Tem- 
ple Bar,  and  by  the  streets  where  Milton  taught  school  and 
Johnson  toiled ;  Christ's  Hospital,  where  Charles  Lamb  was  a 
"  Blue-coat  boy  ;  "  and  down  Paternoster  Row,  the  narrow, 
dark  birthplace  of  countless  immortal  books.  I  was  amused 
by  the  aristocratic  disdain  of  signs  evidenced  by  the  distin- 
guished masters  of  the  trade.  Byron's  publisher  has  simply 
"  Mr.  Murray  "  in  small  letters  on  his  door.  We  then  drove 
round  St.  Paul's,  a  sombre,  mountainous  building,  which  to  my 
eye  has  more  the  look  of  a  vast  heathen  temple  than  an  edi- 
fice for  Christian  worship ;  and  passed  that  awfuUest  of  pris- 
ons, Newgate,  the  sight  of  which  flung  a  sudden  darkness  on 
the  day. 


^ 


32  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS     OF 

In  the  evening  I  took  tea  quietly  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cob- 
den,  to  whom  I  had  brought  letters.  Richard  Cobden  I  found 
to  De,  personally,  all  that  his  noble  political  course  and  high- 
f^ned  eloquence  had  led  me  to  expect.  He  is  most  kindly 
and  affable  in  manner,  converses  earnestly  and  thought- 
fully, though  with  occasional  flashes  of  humor  and  nice  touch- 
es of  satire.  He  seems  full  of  life  and  energy,  and  will,  I 
trust,  yet  answer  all  the  great  hopes  the  people  have  reposed 
in  him. 

Last  night  I  had  a  charming  ride  a  cheval,  in  Hyde  Park. 
Much  of  the  rank  and  fashion  of  West  End  was  out,  either  in 
carriages  or  on  horseback  ;  and  a  more  magnificent  display  of 
high  blood  and  breeding,  both  human  and  equestrian,  surely 
the  wide  world  cannot  furnish.  We  rode  for  about  an  hour 
up  and  down  "  Rotten  Row,"  an  avenue  especially  devoted  to 
the  riders,  admiring  the  beauty  and  grace  of  England's  fair 
daughters  and  the  glory  of  its  horse  flesh.  The  riding  of  the 
English  ladies  is  marked  with  great  elegance,  but  extremely 
quiet,  utterly  free  from  display,  and  in  many  cases,  I  thought, 
wanting  in  spirit.  They  seemed  to  ride  as  in  some  grand 
state  procession,  to  make  up  a  noble  show,  rather  than  for  the 
joy  and  exultation  of  that  most  glorious  exercise. 

I  felt  curiously  when  I  found  myself  galloping  by  that 
Crystal  Palace  which  had  so  often  shone  on  ray  dreams,  stored 
and  gorgeous  with  the  treasures  of  all  lands,  and  crowded 
with  many-nationed  life.  It  is  beautiful  still  in  its  bright  des- 
olation, and  in  the  strange  silence  succeeding  the  sea-like  mur- 
mur of  innumerable  voices,  the  continuous  sound  of  passing 
feet,  and  the  rich  rustle  of  brocades. 

Yesterday  Mr.  Cobden  did  me  the  kindness  to  show  me 
the  Houses  of  Parliament.  He  first  introduced  me  into  the 
gallery  of  the  House  of  Commons,  behind  that  Turkish  bar- 
barism, the  lattice-work  screen,  where  I  beheld,  "  as  through  a 
glass  darkly,"  a  few  scattered  M.  P.'s,  some  sitting  bolt  up 


A    TOUTl    IN    EUROPE.  33 

right,  some  lounging  on  long,  green  benches,  leisurely  legislat- 
ing, with  their  hats  on.  The  speaking  was  brief,  conversa- 
tional, and  commonplace.  Mr.  D'Israeli  spoke,  for  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  on  the  affair  of  the  expulsion  of  the 
missionaries  from  Austria.  The  chancellor  of  the  exchequer 
has  a  loiok  decidedly  and  darkly  Hebraic.  When  I  say  this, 
I  must  confess  that  I  have  in  my  eye  the  modern  Abraham, 
who  lends  money  to  fast  young  men  with  handsome  expecta- 
tions, or  the  modern  Moses,  who  presides  at  the  pawnbro- 
ker's counter,  rather  than  the  faithful  patriarch  of  old,  or  the 
wise  lawgiver,  leader,  and  feeder  of  Israel.  The  face  w^ears 
to  me  no  high  character,  but  is  cold,  politic,  and  subtle  in 
expression.  I  could  only  see  the  sentimental  exquisite  who 
penned  Henrietta  Temple  in  the  dainty  waistcoat  and  spiral 
black  curls  of  the  chancellor.  In  the  House  of  Lords  some 
cause  was  being  tried  —  a  black-gowned,  big-wigged  advocate 
was  speaking  before  a  black-gowned  and  bigger-wigged  judge. 
I  knew  Lord  Brougham  at  once,  from  the  admirable  though 
not  over-complimentary  sketches  of  Punch.  He  looks  some- 
what broken,  but  hardly  so  old  as  I  expected  to  see  him. 

The  new  parliamentary  palace  is  beautiful  and  magnificent 
in  the  extreme.  We  have  nothing  even  faintly  comparable 
to  it  in  our  country ;  and  long  may  it  be  ere  we  have  for  such 
a  purpose.  The  splendid  unsuitableness  of  this  edifice  for  the 
theatre  of  grave  legislation,  it  seems  to  me,  can  be  scarcely 
questioned.  Infinitely  more  suitable,  surely,  would  have 
been  the  pure  and  severely  simple  Greek  architecture,  strong, 
and  calm,  and  cold,  like  Government  and  Law,  rather  than 
the  elaborate,  fantastic,  and  poetic  forms  of  the  Gothic  —  a 
style  whose  effect  is  always  graceful  rather  than  stately,  and 
whose  associations  are  romantic  and  religious. 

This  morning,  the  Earl  of  Carlisle,  to  whom  I  brought  a 
'etter,  with  his  well-known  kindliness  and  courtesy  called,  and 
brouglit,  in  addition  to  the  great  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance, 


34  HAPS  AND  MISHAPS  OF 

one  of  Her  Majesty's  tickets  to  the  gallery  of  the  House  of 
Lords  for  the  prorogation,  which  is  to  take  place  to-morrow. 
His  Lordship  also  favored  me  with  tickets  to  the  London 
University,  where,  this  afternoon,  the  prizes  were  distributed 
—  the  Earl  of  'iJarlisle  presiding.  From  witnessing  this  very 
intere&tinij:  ceremony  I  have  just  returned. 

After  distributing  the  prizes  in  his  own  peculiarly  graceful 
and  affable  manner,  speaking  some  words  of  praise  and  en- 
couragement to  every  proud  and  blushing  winner  of  academi- 
cal honors.  Lord  Carlisle  spoke  at  some  length,  eloquently 
and  nobly.  He  was  followed  by  the  lord  mayor,  and  by 
Joseph  Hume,  a  fine  specimen  of  a  true-souled  old  man.  The 
latter  complimented  Lord  Carlisle  as  "  a  noble  who  ennobles 
nobility." 

In  the  conversation  during  his  morning  call,  his  lordship 
spoke  of  our  Country  with  apparently  most  pleasant  recollec- 
tions of  his  visit.  He  expressed  a  deep  interest  in  the  great 
problem,  that  solemn  question  of  our  age  and  land  —  sla- 
very. He  was  reading,  he  said,  a  book  which  bore  upon  thia 
subject,  and  which  impressed  him  most  powerfully,  both  as  an 
unanswerable  argument  against  slavery,  and  as  a  work  of 
genius.  He  added,  that  the  style  and  the  story  were  so  fasci- 
nating tliat  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  lie  could  lay 
it  down  before  finishing  it.  Of  course,  it  was  Uncle  Tom'^S 
Cabin,  which   is  creating  an   immense  sensation  in  England. 

I  have  spent  a  delightful  evening  with  Mary  Howitt — ^^a 
charming,  true-hearted  woman,  as  she  has  unconsci('Usly  writ- 
ten herself  down  in  her  books.  The  poet  Alaric  Watts  was 
present,  and  the  painter  Margaret  Gillies.  Mary  Howitt  the 
younger,  a  beautiful,  natural  girl,  is  an  artist  of  rare  talent 
and  poetic  spirit.  I  have  also  met  the  authoress  Mrs.  Crowe, 
a  very  interesting  and  genial  person,  who,  if  she  has  a  "night 
side"  to  her  "nature,"  never   turns  it  on  her  friends. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE  35 

Jul  y  7. 

At  eleven  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  1  it  we  set  forth 
to  witness  the  prorogation,  which  was  to  take  place  at  two 
o'clock.  Yet,  though  so  early,  we  found  others  before  us,  and 
were  obliged  to  wait  in  our  carriage  for  more  than  half  an 
hour  before  we  could  enter  the  House  of  Lords.  I  found  that 
my  seat  was  one  most  desirable,  both  for  seeing  the  bril- 
liant assembly  and  the  august  ceremony :  it  was  near  the 
throne,  yet  commanded  a  view  of  every  part  of  the  splendid 
chamber. 

The  gallery  was  soon  filled  with  ladies,  all  in  full  dress, 
jewels,  flowers,  and  plumes.  Many  of  the  seats  of  the  peers 
were  also  filled  by  their  noble  wives  and  fair  daughters,  most 
superbly  and  sweetly  arrayed.  O,  the  glory  of  those  gor- 
geous brocades,  rivalling  the  blue  of  Italian  skies,  the  green  of 
English  fields,  the  bloom  of  Cashmere's  roses,  the  purple  and 
gold  of  American  sunsets  !  O,  the  exquisite  beauty  of  flow- 
ers, fit  to  make  Flora  die  of  envy,  and  outdoing  Nature  in  a 
thousand  unimaginable  forms !  O,  the  soft,  drooping  down- 
iness of  costly  plumes  !  O,  the  proud  flashing,  the  inestima- 
ble splendoi ,  of  old  hereditary  jewels  —  the  sapphire,  which 
seems  to  enshrine  some  serene,  celestial  soul  —  the  emerald, 
restless  with  some  imprisoned  spirit  of  the  "  vasty  deep  "  — 
pearls  of  such  liquid  purity  as  the  white-beaded  foam  shaken 
from  the  locks  of  Venus  —  rubies  of  a  joyous,  luscious  rich- 
ness, like  wine  drippings  from  the  goblet  of  Bacchus  —  gar- 
nets of  a  deep,  dark,  less  festive  than  sorrowful  hue,  as  they 
were  hardened  blooddrops  from  the  heart  of  Niobe  —  and 
diamonds,  giving  out  a  haughty,  regal  gleam,  as  they  were 
fiozen  tears  from  angered  Juno's  eyes. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  I  saw  many  of  the  fairest  specimens 
of  English  aristocracy  —  women  of  strong  and  healthful  yet 
delicate  and  elegant  oro-anization  —  women  of  refined  ex- 
pression  and  high-bred  air,  whose  noble  blood  showed  itself 


S6  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

not  alone  in  their  proudly-borne  heads  and  delicate  hands, 
but  was  eloquent  in  every  motion.  But,  as  a  faithful  chroni- 
cler, I  must  add,  that  there  were  some,  whom,  were  it  not  for 
tLeir  wearing  the  titles  and  coronets  of  ladies,  an  "  outside 
barbarian,"  like  myself,  would  be  in  danger  of  confounding 
with  the  vulgar  herd  —  some  who  neither  wore  their  lady- 
hood regnant  on  their  brows,  nor  revealed  its  softness  and 
grace  in  manner  and  movement ;  so  it  is  well  that  the  "  Red 
Book  "  is  explicit  on  the  point  of  their  claims.  Among  those 
conspicuous  for  elegance  and  loveliness  were  the  young 
Duchess  of  Northumberland,  and  Lady  Clementina  Villiers, 
the  famous  court  beauty.  That  most  magnificent  of  matrons, 
the  Duchess  of  Sutherland,  was  not  present.  Towards  one 
o'clock  the  peers  began  to  come  in  fast,  clad  in  their  crimson 
robes  of  state.  They  are  a  noble  and  retined-looking  set  of  men, 
taken  as  a  whole ;  but  some  there  are  so  decidedly  plebeian 
in  the  outward,  one,  on  beholding  them,  recalls  old  stories  of 
cradle  exchanges,  or  feels  amazed  at  the  measureless  assur- 
ance of  Nature,  in  fashioning  of  common  clay  vessels  of  such 
honor  —  in  making  the  patrician  flesh  and  blood  so  marvel^ 
lously  like  the  beef-fed  physiqiie  of  the  people.     The  Duke 

of has  a  rotundity  of  figure,  and  a  full  bloodedness  and 

full  mooniness  of  face,  more  aldermanic  than  majestic.  But 
few  eyes  dwelt  on  His  Grace,  when  there  slowly  entered,  at 
the  left  of  the  throne,  a  white-haired  old  man,  pale  and  spare, 
bowed  with  years  and  honors,  the  hero  of  many  battles  in 
many  lands,  the  conqueror  of  conquerors,  the  Duke  !  Lean- 
ing on  the  arm  of  the  fair  Marchioness  of  Douro,  he  stood,  or 
rather  tottered,  before  us  —  the  grandest  ruin  in  England. 
He  presently  retired  to  don  his  ducal  robes  and  join  the 
royal  party  at  the  entrance  by  the  Victoria  tower.  The 
pious  bishops,  in  their  sumptuous  sacerdotal  robes,  made  a 
goodly  show  before  an  ungodly  world.  The  judges  came,  in 
their  black  gowns,  and  in  all  the  venerable  absurdity  of  their 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  37 

enormous  wigs.  Mr.  Justice  Talfourd,  the  poet,  a  small, 
modest-looking  man,  was  quite  extinguished  by  his.  The 
foreign  ministers  assembled,  nation  after  nation,  making,  when 
standing  or  seated  together,  a  most  peculiar  and  picturesque 
group.  More  gorgeous  richness  and  variousness  of  costume 
I  never  beheld.  They  shone  in  all  colors,  and  dazzled  with 
stars,  and  orders,  and  jewel-hiUed  swords.  The  red  Greek 
cap,  richly  wrought  with  gold,  sat  jauntingly  on  olive  brows 
and  raven  locks ;  wliile  high  above  all  towered  the  ugly  black 
hats  of  the  Persian  envoys.  Our  minister,  Mr.  Lawrence, 
was  dressed  with  a  quiet,  simple  elegance,  becoming  the 
representative  of  a  republic. 

In  the  gallery,  near  me,  sat  the  little  Indian  princess  lately 
admitted  into  the  English  church,  with  the  Queen  for  a  spon- 
sor. She  is  a  pretty,  bright-looking  child,  and  was  then 
literally  loaded  witJi  jewels.  Opposite  her  sat  the  handsome 
and  ponderous  prince,  her  father.  Said  Pacha.  He  was  mag- 
nificently dressed  —  girded  about  with  a  superb  India  shawl , 
and  diamonds,  for  the  least  of  which  many  a  hard-run  Chris- 
tian would  sell  his  soul,  gleamed  above  his  swart  brow,  like 
stars  amid  dusky  evening  clouds. 

Lord  Redesdale  took  his  seat  on  the  woolsack,  and  some 
business  was  despatched  in  a  hurried  and  indistinct  way. 
Soon  after  two  o'clock,  the  guns  announced  the  arrival  of  the 
royal  procession,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  entire  house 
rose  silently  to  receive  Her  Majesty.  The  Queen  was  con- 
ducted by  Prince  Albert,  and  accompanied  by  all  the  great 
oificers  of  state.  The  long  train,  borne  by  ladies,  gentlemen, 
and  pages,  gave  a  certain  stateliness  to  the  short,  plump  little 
person  of  the  fair  sovereign,  and  she  bore  herself  with  much 
dignity  and  grace.  Prince  Albert,  it  is  evident,  has  been 
eminently  handsome,  but  is  now  getting  stout,  and  is  a  little 
bald.  Yet  he  is  a  man  of  right  noble  presence.  Her  Majes- 
ty is  in  fine  preservation,  and  really  a  pretty  and  lovable- 
4 


38  IIAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

looking  woman.  I  think  I  never  saw  any  thing  sweeter  than 
her  smile  of  recognition,  given  to  some  of  her  friends  in  the 
gallery  —  to  the  little  Indian  princess  in  especial.  There  is 
much  in  her  face  of  pure  womanliness  and  simple  goodness ; 
yet  it  is  by  no  means  wanting  in  animated  intelligence.  In 
short,  after  seeing  her,  I  can  well  understand  the  loving 
loyalty  of  her  people,  and  can  heartily  join  in  their  prayer 
of  "  God  save  the  Queen  !  " 

Her  Majesty  wore  a  splendid  tiara  of  brilliants,  matched 
by  bracelets,  necklace,  and  stomacher.  Her  soft,  brown  hair 
was  dressed  quite  plainly  —  rolled  in  the  neck  as  for  riding. 
Her  under  dress  was  of  white  satin,  striped  with  gold ;  her 
over  dress  was,  of  course,  of  crimson  velvet,  trimmed  with 
gold  and  ermine. 

After  desiring  the  lords  to  be  seated,  the  queen  commanded 
that  her  "ftiithful  Commons"  should  be  summoned.  The 
members  of  the  lower  house  are  only  allowed  a  narrow, 
ignoble  space,  railed  off  from  the  chamber,  under  the  gallery, 
oppo.-^ite  the  throne.  Into  this  they  soon  came,  hurrying,  and 
tumbling,  with  a  sad  want  of  aristocratic  dignity  and  par- 
liamentary decorum.  While  the  speaker  was  reading  his 
formal  speech,  I  looked  round  upon  the  scene,  striving  to 
stamp  it  indelibly  upon  my  memory.  The  vast  chamber  it- 
self, gorgeous  in  crimson  and  gold,  frescoes  rich  and  historic, 
carving  exquisite  beyond  description,  the  pride  and  loveli- 
ness of  England's  aristocracy,  with  the  emblems  of  its  ex- 
haustless  wealth,  splendidly  attired  and  decorated  officers  of 
state,  of  the  army,  and  of  the  royal  household,  grouped  about 
the  throne,  and  her  upon  the  throne. 

Throughout  the  reading  of  the  speech,  Her  Majesty  listened 
with  a  cold,  quiet  manner,  sitting  perfectly  motionless,  even 
to  her  fingers  and  eyelids.  The  Iron  Duke,  standing  at  her 
left,  bent  and  trembled  slightly,  supporting,  with  evident 
difficulty,  the  ponderous  sword  of  state.     Prince  Albert,  sit- 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  3& 

ting,  tall  and  soldier-like,  in  his  handsome  field  marshal's 
uniform,  looked  nonchalant  and  serene,  and  only  needed  his 
meerschaum  to  make  up  a  perfect  picture  of  German  placid- 
ity. The  Earl  of  Derby  held  the  crown  on  its  crimson 
cushion,  gracefully,  like  an  accomplished  waiter  presentmg 
an  ice.  That  crown  smote  on  the  eye  with  its  intolerable 
brightness.  The  wondrous  costly  jewels  seemed  to  throb 
with  life,  the  undying  life  of  light.  O  immortal  stones,  on 
how  many  scenes  like  this  have  ye  looked,  with  your  cold, 
gleaming  eyes,  mocking  alike  the  proud  flash  in  the  bold  eyes 
of  mighty  kings,  and  the  smihng  light  in  the  gentle  eyes  of 
fair  queens  —  mocking,  indeed,  all  the  passing  power  and  the 
perishing  glory  ye  are  meant  to  adorn  and  emblazon,  and 
the  mournful  mortality,  the  deathward  throbbing,  of  the  brows 
ye  encircle ! 

After  the  reading  of  this  speech,  certain  bills  were  read  to 
Her  Majesty  for  her  assent ;  which  she  gave  each  time  with  a 
gracious  bow,  shaking  sparkles  from  her  diamond  tiara  in 
dewdrops  of  light.  At  every  token  of  royal  acquiescence,  a 
certain  personage,  whom  I  took  for  a  herald,  bowed  low 
towards  the  Queen,  then  performed  a  similar  obeisance  towards 
the  Commons,  crying,  in  a  harsh,  an  utterly  indescribable 
voice,  "Za  Heine  le  vtut."  This  ceremony  gone  through 
with,  the  lord  chancellor,  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  throne, 
presented  a  copy  of  the  royal  speech  to  the  Queen,  which  she 
proceeded  to  read  in  a  manner  perfectly  simple,  yet  dignified, 
and  in  a  voice  singularly  melodious  and  distinct.  Finer  read- 
ing I  never  heard  any  where  ;  every  syllable  was  clearly 
enunciated,  and  the  emphasis  fell  with  unerring  precision 
upon  the  right  word. 

The  lord  chancellor  having  formally  announced  that  pai« 
liament  stood  prorogued  until  the  20th  of  August,  Her  Ma 
jesty  rose  as  majestically  as  could  be  expected  of  one  more 
remarkable  for  rosy  plumptitude  than  regal  altitude.     Prince 


40  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

Albert  took  his  place  at  her  side  —  the  crown  bearer  took  his 
in  front  —  the  train  bearers  took  theirs  in  the  rear ;  the  royal 
procession  formed,  swept  slowly  forth,  the  brilliant  house 
broke  up  and  followed ;  and  so  the  splendid  pageant  passed 
away  —  faded  like  a  vision  of  poetry,  or  a  fairy  enchant- 
ment. 

Most  of  us  were  obliged  to  wait  a  long  time  in  the  ante- 
room before  we  could  gain  the  staircase  where  our  carriages 
were  announced,  because  of  the  mighty  inward  rush  of  the 
people  from  the  corridors,  eager  to  get  a  sight  even  of  the 
empty  chamber,  so  lately  glorified  by  the  presence  of  nobility, 
and  sanctified  by  the  breathings  of  royalty.  It  was  in  vain 
that  gentlemanly  ushers  waved  the  official  rod,  and  strove  to 
preserve  order  —  in  vain  that  awful  policemen,  pale  with 
shocked  loyalty,  shouted,  "  Make  way  for  the  peers  and  peer- 
esses!" The  curious  crowd  came  surging  in,  and  the  bon- 
neted wives  of  citizens  elbowed  the  coroneted  wives  of  dukes, 
and  tradesmen  got  entangled  in  the  ermined  robes  of  peers. 
One  poor  old  man  was  rudely  jostled  against  me.  I  looked 
up  commiseratively  into  his  face,  and  it  was  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington !  It  was  four  o'clock  ere  we  reached  home,  and  yet 
we  were  by  no  means  the  last  to  get  away. 

After  dinner  we  went  to  Her  Majesty's  Theatre  to  see 
performed  The  Barber  of  Seville,  with  Madame  de  La 
Grange,  a  fine  French  singer,  as  Rosina;  Signor  de  Bassini, 
as  Figaro  ;  and  the  great  Lablache,  as  Doctor  Bartolo.  The 
first  bass  singer  of  the  world  is  an  enormous  man  — a  mon- 
ster of  melody,  who  spouts  up  columns  of  sound  from  the 
"  vasty  deep  "  of  his  immense  lungs,  and  whelms  you  in  the 
flood. 

Early  on   the   second,  one  of  the  loveliest  morning  th&t 

ever  dawned,  I   set  out,  with  Mr.  F and  a  few  choice 

English  friends,  for  a  day  at  Albury,  the  residence  of  Mr. 
Tupper  —  a  poet  whose  manners  are  as  popular  as  his  works 


A   TOUR   IN   EUROPE.  41 

and  whose  hospitality  is  as  "  proverbial "  as  his  "  philosophy." 

Our  party  consisted  of  Mr.  F — — ,  F B ,  a  London 

merchant,  yet  a  poet,  and  a  friend  of  poets,  a  lover  and  a 
generous  patron  of  art,  a  politician  of  high-toned  liberality,  a 
warm-hearted  man,  and,  what  was  the  crown  of  all  virtues 

on  an  occasion  lilie  ours,  an  admirable  humorist ;  Mrs.  B , 

bis  charming  wife,  and  "little  Frank,"  a  blue-eyed,  fair- 
haired  beauty  of  a  boy  ;  Mr.  Durham,  the  young  sculptor,  to 
whom  we  owe  the  noblest  bust  of  Jenny  Lind  ;  Camilla  Cros- 
land,  the  delightful  authoress,  whom  we  know  well  under  her 
maiden  name  of  Toulmin  ;  and  Mr.  Jerdan,  or  "  old  Jerdan," 
as  he  is  farailarly  called,  a  man  of  nearly  seventy  years,  yet 
retaining  the  joyous  spirit  of  seventeen,  one  of  the  finest  wits 
an<L  most  remarkable  personages  of  his  time. 

From  the  station  at  Guildford  we  drove  to  Albury,  about  a 
mile,  through  the  most  delicious  lanes,  past  streams,  and  little 
lakes  —  altogether  one  of  the  pleasantest  drives  I  ever  en- 
joyed. 

Mr.  Tupper's  place  is  the  very  ideal  home  of  a  poet  — 
sheltered  in  a  lovely  valley,  embowered  in  noble  trees,  clam- 
bered over  by  vines,  and  illuminated  with  roses.  The  house 
itself  is  quaintly  beautiful  outwardly  and  inwardly,  finished 
and  furnished  with  simple  elegance  and  much  artistic  taste. 

O,  what  a  golden  day  they  made  for  us  —  our  genial  host, 
his  lovely  wif^  and  their  children  that  are  children !  What 
pleasant  talks  we  had  in  the  library ;  what  walks  in  the  gar- 
den ;  what  frolics  with  the  little  ones  in  the  hay  field ;  what 
a  merry,  noisy,  nonsensical  time  over  our  dinner ;  and  what 
a  glorious  ramble  through  green  woodland  paths  afterwards ! 
O  for  a  Joshua  to  have  laid  an  injunction  on  the  sun,  which, 
even  in  England,  will  set  at  last !  On  our  return  drive  we 
threw  morirnful  glances  on  the  beautiful  country  which  had 
so  charmed   us  in  the  morning,  and  grieving  that  we  should 

see  its  face  no  more.     We    took  leave  of  our  host  and  his 
4  * 


42  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

handsome  little  son  at  the  station  most  regretfully ;  thougL 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  some  of  our  party  were  guilty  of 
several  bad  puns  up  to  the  last  sad  moment. 

On  our  way  back  to  town,  Mrs.  Crosland  —  with  whom,  by 
the  by,  I  had  become  deeply  interested  during  the  day  — 
pointed  out  to  me  Ryegate,  the  place  where  Eugene  Aram 
was  usher  in  a  school. 

The  day  following,  I  again  went  into  the  country  with  my 
good  friend  F ,  on  a  visit  to  Miss  Mitford.  Another  morn- 
ing of  soft  airs  and  surpassing  beauty,  as  though  sent  to  favor 
our  homage  to  one  of  the  truest  poets  of  nature.  We  passed 
in  sight  of  Windsor  Castle,  which  shows  gloriously  even  from 
afar.  I  wish  I  could  give  an  idea  of  the  peculiar  gor- 
geous effect  produced  by  the  wild  poppies  in  bloom  along  our 
way.  The  embankment  of  the  railroad  was  crimson  with 
them  for  miles,  and  seemed  rushing  by  us  like  a  river  of 
blood. 

We  left  the  rail,  and  took  an  open  carriage  at  Reading,  a 
quaint  old  place,  containing  some  venerable  abbey  ruins. 
"  Three  Mile  Cross,"  the  immortal  "  Our  Village "  of  the 
sketches,  is  some  miles  from  this  town,  but  the  poetess  does  not 
now^  reside  there,  having  removed  to  a  simple  little  cottage  at 
Swalloivfield,  a  mile  or  two  away.  We  drove  through  "  Our 
Village,"  however,  and  passed  her  old  home ;  and  every  field, 
and  lane,  and  house,  and  shop  was  familar  to  my  eye.  The 
birds  in  the  trees  seemed  singing  her  name  over  and  over, 
and  the  wild  roses  in  the  hedges  were  breathing  of  her.  I 
gazed  down  her  favorite  wa.ks,  half  cheating  myself  with  the 
hupe  that  I  should  s(je  her  strolling  under  the  green  shadows 
with  her  lovely  httle  friend  Luci/,  and  her  beautiful  greyhound 
Mayflower.  I  looked  longingly  over  towards  Aberleigh,  and 
sighed,  that  she  who  had  made  those  lovely  rural  scenes  the 
haunts  of  charmed  fancy,  and  places  of  quiet  delight,  and 
refreshment,  for  thousands,  could  herself  roam  over  them  and 
rejoice  in  them  no  more. 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  43 

I  knew  when  we  were  near  Miss  Mitford's  home,  by 
our  encountering  a  group  of  her  picturestjue  proteges  the 
gypsies,  who  were  lounging  on  the  turf  at  the  entrance  of  a 
lane,  sunning  themselves  —  a  careless,  lazy-looking  set  of 
ragabonds,  who  scarcely  deigned  to  turn  their  faces  towards 
us  as  we  passed ;  though  one  dusky  damsel  fired  up  at  us  with 
her  gleaming  eyes,  from  the  ambush  of  her  blu  !k,  straggling 
locks. 

We  were  pained  to  find  Miss  Mitford,  who  has  been  in  a 
feeble  state  of  health  for  some  years  past,  suffering  from  an 
attack  of  illness  more  than  usually  severe.  Yet  she  did  not 
look  ill :  her  fine  expressive  face  was  lit  with  pleasant  smiles, 
and  she  retained  her  kind,  sympathetic  manner,  and  cheerful, 
charming  spirits  to  the  full.  Miss  Mitford  talks  delightfully, 
with  graphic  descriptions  of  places  and  persons,  free  dashes 
at  character,  and  a  rich,  delicious  humor,  which  ycu  relish  like 
a  dainty  flavor.  She  has  the  joyous,  outgushing  laugh  of  a 
child,  and  her  kindly  eyes  flash  from  under  her  noble  brow 
and  snowy,  soft  hair  with  all  the  vivacity  of  girlhood. 

No  complaining  could  have  been  half  so  touching  as  her 
cheerful  resignation  when  she  was  told  that  she  must  not  go 
with  us  to  drive,  a  pleasure  to  which  she  had  been  looking  for- 
ward. Feeling  that  she  had  over-exerted  herself  in  conver- 
Bation,  we  left  her  for  an  hour  or  two,  while  we  visited 
Strathfield-Saye,  the  noble  country  seat  of  the  Duke  of 
Welhngton,  and  drove  through  the  extensive  and  beautiful 
grounds.  The  park  is  one  of  the  finest  in  England,  but  the 
house  is  neither  grand  nor  picturesque. 

It  was  with  real  sorrow  at  my  heart  that  I  parted  with 
Miss  Mitford  that  evening.  The  excitement  of  the  morning 
had  worn  off,  and  she  looked  pale  and  sad.  I  grieved  to 
leave  her  with  only  her  maid  and  man  servant,  devoted 
though  they  be  —  feeling  that  she,  whose  heart  was  so  rich 
in  tenderest  affections,  should  have  the  near  love  and  anxiou? 


44  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS. 

care  of  at  least  a  sister  or  brother  ever  about  her  steps.  My 
lips  quivered  painfully  under  her  parting  kiss,  though  receiv- 
ing it  as  the  benediction  of  one  of  God's  angels.  I  never 
shall  forget  the  deep  melodious  fervor  of  her  "  God  bless  you!" 

bestowed  on  her  well-beloved  friend  Mr.  F ;  nor  her  last 

smile  cast  on  us  both,  as  she  stood  in  her  door,  looking  after 
us  as  we  drove  away.  Yet  I  was  much  comforted  in  my  sad- 
ness by  the  thought,  that  ever,  while  England  boasts  a  pure 
literature  and  a  virtuous  people,  while  her  quiet  country 
lanes  stretch  out  their  lovely  vistas  of  greenery,  while  her 
hawthorn  hedges  blossom  through  the  pleasant  land,  will  the 
name  of  Mary  Russell  Mitford  be  cherished  and  revered. 

I  would  not  have  it  thought  that  Miss  Mitford  leads  a 
solitary  or  dull  life.  I  am  happy  to  say  that  many  of  the 
nobility,  as  well  as  her  countless  literary  friends,  honor  them- 
selves by  showing  her  every  possible  attention  and  kindnesa. 


CHAPTER    III. 

bfEWGATE.  —  Model  Prisons.  —  Mr.  Dickens.  —  Walter  Savagb 
Landor.  —  Charles  Kemble.  —  English  Hospitality.  —  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hall.  —  Joseph  Mazzini.  —  Albert  Smith.  —  Zoological 
Gardens.  —  British  Museum.  —  Windsor  Castle.  —  Stafford 
House.  —  Bridgewater  Gallery.  —  Mr.  Kingsley.  —  A  Literary 
Party.  —  Astley's.  —  The  Docks.  — The  Tower.  —  Greenwich. — 
The  Opera.  —  Grisi.  —  Mario.  —  The  Tomb  of  Milton. 

July  13. 

On  Tuesday  I  dined  with  Sir  Thomas,  or  Mr.  Justice 
Falfourd,  as  I  believe  this  is  the  higher  title.  The  poet  is  a 
most  kindly,  quiet,  unpretending  man,  and  converses  agreeably, 
though  with  occasional  wanderings  of  thought,  and  lapses  into 
a  sort  of  ejaculatory  dreaminess. 

On  Wednesday,  with  my  good  friend  Mr.  B for  a  cice- 
rone, I  visited  Newgate  and  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital.  There 
were  comparatively  few  criminals  in  the  prison,  but  they  were 
hard.  Heaven-forgotten  looking  creatures.  I  think  I  never 
saw  human  eyes  which  had  so  lost  every  ray  of  the  primal 
soul  light,  seeming  to  give  out  only  a  deathly,  pestilential 
gleam  from  moral  vileness  and  corruption  —  faces  into  which 
all  evil  passions  were  so  stamped  as  by  the  iron  hoof  of  Satan 
himself.  My  very  soul  shuddered  and  sickened  at  the  sight 
of  beings  seemingly  so  helpless,  hopeless,  and  redemptionless ; 
yet  I  dared  not  despair,  remembering  that  I  stood  on  ground 
hallowed  by  the  labors  of  Elizabeth  Fry,  remembering  what 
wonders  of  repentance  and  redemption  she  had  all  singly  and 
silently  wrought,  with  her  holy  faith,  her  patient  endurance, 
and  that  "  perfect  love  which  casteth  out  fear." 

(45) 


46  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

Newgate  is  a  black,  gloomy  place,  darkened  as  by  the  thick 
shadows  of  innumerable  miseries  and  crimes,  and  terrible  in 
the  array  of  chains,  and  bolts,  and  ponderous  iron  doors  — 
•  where  narrow  stone  stairways,  and  noisome  cells,  and  long, 
low,  cliill  passages,  fill  one  with  shivering  horror.  Yet  this 
was  built  under  the  direction  of  Howard.  Surely  in  nothing 
is  the  progress,  the  enlightenment,  and  the  leniency  of  the  age 
more  marked  than  in  prison  construction  and  discipline.  Thank 
Heaven  for  the  token  ! 

Our  guide  showed  us  into  a  sort  of  gallery,  high  walled  and 
paved  with  dark  stone — a  damp,  dismal,  lonesome  place,  from 
which  I  shrank  back  instinctively  with  a  chill  horror,  which 
seemed  to  come  up  from  the  black  pavement,  and  creep  through 
my  very  bones.  It  was  the  place  where  the  criminals  hanged 
at  Newgate  are  buried.  On  the  wall  their  initials  are  rudely 
cut,  so  that  friends,  if  they  leave  any,  may  know  on  which  of 
those  ponderous  flagstones  to  shed  the  bitter  tears  of  their 
shame,  the  desolate  tears  of  their  sorrow.  From  visions  of 
hurried  burial  scenes — where  bodies,  borne  purple-faced  from 
the  near  scaffold,  were  thrust  into  this  prison  aharnel  house, 
shut  down  into  the  blackness  of  darkness,  with  the  shades  of 
shame  and  crime  keeping  an  eternal  watch  above,  and  not  a 
word  of  pious  pity,  nor  a  sculptured  prayer,  not  even  a  chubby 
cherub  face,  to  exorcise  demons,  —  my  mind  went  back  a  few 
centuries  to  the  gorgeous  funeral  obsequies  of  sceptred  rob- 
bers and  crowned  murderers,  who,  with  slow  religious  state  and 
regal  pomp,  were  laid  to  rest  in  Westminster  Abbey,  under 
grand  canopies,  costly  monumental  effigies,  heraldic  signs,  holy 
texts,  and  royal  lavishment  of  praise. 

The  guide  told  us  that  criminals  on  trial  for  murder  were 
conducted  to  and  from  the  court  through  this  awful  passage. 
"  What  were  the  trial  by  fire  to  this ! "  remarked  my  friend. 
"  What  were  treading  on  burning  ploughshares  to  walking 
over  the  bones  of  murderers  ! " 


A    TOUR   IN    EUTIOPE.  47 

The  courts  were  in  session.  In  one  which  we  visited,  a 
China  man  was  brought  up  in  evidence,  and  he  took  the  oath 
by  solemnly  breaking  a  saucer.  If  typical,  in  many  cases  an 
honester  than  the  Christian  form. 

From  Newgate  we  went  to  the  noble  old  hospital  I  have 
mentioned,  where  I  was  comforted  by  seeing  the  poor  and  suf- 
fering, the  homeless  and  friendless,  skilfully  treated  and  ten- 
derly cared  for. 

We  afterwards  visited  the  new  Holloway  Prison,  and  the 
Pentonville  Model  Prison,  both  of  which  strike  me  as  most 
admirably  constructed ;  and  the  latter,  which  alone  is  occu- 
pied, very  wisely  and  mercifully  managed.  After  Newgate, 
these  buildings  have  a  lofty,  airy,  an  elegant,  and  almost 
cheerful  look.  The  health  and  comfort  of  the  convicts  are 
here  studied  to  a  degree  quite  alarming  to  certain  adherents 
of  the  old  system,  who  cry  out  that  all  such  prison  reforms  are 
sotting  a  premium  on  vice ;  as  though  even  baths,  warm 
blankets,  wholesome  soup  and  bread,  were  compensations  for 
the  forfeited  freedom.  While  remarking  every  where  in  these 
institutions  the  perfection  of  order  and  discipline,  I  was  yet 
more  deeply  impressed  by  the  kindly  feeling,  the  humane  sen- 
timents, expressed  by  the  officers  ;  and  I  left  the  prison  walls 
more  hopeful  for  the  criminal  and  for  society  than  I  entered. 

On  Thursday  evening  I  dined  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dickens 
and  a  small  party,  at  the  pleasant  house  of  the  novelist,  in 
Tavistock  Square.  Mr.  Dickens  is  all  I  looked  to  see,  in  per- 
son, manner,  and  conversation.  He  is  rather  slight,  with  a 
fj,ne  symmetrical  head,  spiritedly  borne,  and  eyes  beaming 
alike  with  genius  and  humor.  Yet,  for  all  the  power  and 
beauty  of  those  eyes,  their  changes  seemed  to  me  to  be  from 
light  to  light.  I  saw  in  them  no  profound,  pathetic  depths,  and 
there  was  around  them  no  tragic  shadowing.  But  I  was  fool- 
ish to  look  for  these  on  such  an  occasion,  when  they  were  very 
properly  left  in  the  authrr's  study,  with  pens,  ink,  and  blotting 


48  IIAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

paper,  and  the  last  written  pages  of  Bleak  House.  Mw 
Dickens  is  a  very  charming  person  —  in  character  and  man 
ner  truly  a  gentlewoman  ;  and  such  of  the  children  as  I  saw 
seemed  worthy  to  hand  down  to  coming  years  the  beauty  of 
the  mother  and  the  name  of  the  father.  Mr.  Dickens  looks  in 
admirable  health  and  spirits,  and  good  for  at  least  twenty  more 
charming  serials.  That,  should  he  furnish  to  the  world  yet 
more  than  that  number  of  his  inimitable  romances,  they  would 
be  as  fresh  and  attractive  as  those  which  had  gone  before,  I 
have  no  doubt,  from  the  confirmed  impression  I  have  of  the 
exhaustlessness  of  his  genius,  and  of  the  infiniteness  of  variety 
in  English  character,  of  phases  in  English  life. 

Mr.  Dickens's  style  of  living  is  elegant  and  tasteful,  but  in 
no  respect  ostentatious,  or  out  of  character  with  his  profession 
or  principles.  I  was  glad  to  see  that  his  servants  wore  no 
livery. 

Next  me,  at  table,  sat  Walter  Savage  Landor  —  a  glorious 
old  man,  full  of  fine  poetic  thought  and  generous  enthusiasm 
for  liberty.  Opposite  sat  Charles  Kemble,  and  his  daughter 
Adelaide,  Madame  Sartoris.  At  the  other  end  of  the  table 
were  Herr  Devrient,  the  great  German  actor,  Barry  Corn- 
w^all  and  his  wife,  a  dauojhter  of  Mrs.  Basil  Montaiijue. 

Charles  Kemble  is  a  grand-looking  old  man,  animated  and 
agreeable  in  conversation,  and  preserving  to  a  wonderful  de- 
gree his  enthusiasm  for  a  profession  around  which  he  and  his 
have  thrown  so  much  of  glory.  In  Adelaide  Sartoris  you  rec- 
ognize at  a  glance  one  of  that  royal  family  of  Kemble,  born 
to  rule,  with  a  power  and  splendor  unsurpassable,  the  realm  of 
tragic  art. 

Herr  Devrient  is  a  handsome,  Haralet-ish  man,  with  a  mel- 
ancholy refinement  of  voice,  face,  and  manner,  touching  and 
poetic  to  a  degree,  though  not  quite  the  thing  for  a  pleasant 
evening  party.  Yet  I  must  confess  I  caught  myself  more 
than  once  turning  from  the  lively  pleasantries  of  agreeable 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROrE.  41) 

acquaintances  to  regard  the  thoughtful  beauty  of  his  face,  and 
speculate  upon  its  dreamy  sadness. 

During  the  evening,  Madame  Sartoris  sang  several  ballads 
in  a  magnificent  manner,  with  a  dramatic  expression,  and  a 
sweetness,  strength,  and  wealth  of  voice  I  never  knew  surpassed. 
She  did  not  astonish  us  with  curious  vocal  feats  ;  she  did  not 
frolic  vvith  her  voice  like  a  child,  nor  warble  idly  and  capri- 
ciously like  a  bird.  She  sung  like  the  woman  she  is,  out  of 
the  depths  of  a  strong,  impassioned  nature,  giving  full,  melo- 
dious utterance  to  great  human  affections.  She  sung  with  a 
power  and  a  purpose,  a  heart-searching  passion,  only  less  in- 
describable than  the  wondrous  changes  of  expression,  the 
lights  chasing  shadows,  the  shadows  deepening  into  night,  then 
flashing  into  morning  over  her  face. 

During  this  evening,  Mr.  Dickens  spoke  to  me  with  much 
interest  and  admiration  of  Mrs.  Stowe  and  Mr.  Hawthorne. 
Wherever  I  go,  my  national  pride  is  gratified  by  hearing  elo- 
quent tributes  to  these  authors,  and  to  the  poet  Long- 
fellow. The  memorials  of  Margaret  Fuller  have  also  cre- 
ated a  sensation  here.  Carlyle  says,  "  Margaret  was  a  great 
creature ;  but  you  have  no  full  biography  of  her  yet.  We 
want  to  know  what  time  she  got  up  in  the  morning,  and 
what  sort  of  shoes  and  stockings  she  wore." 

Thu  ■  far  ray  experience  of  English  life  and  character  has 
been  pleasant,  altogether  pleasant.  Hospitality  more  generous 
and  cordial,  kindness  more  constant,  warm,  and  considerate, 
it  were  quite  impossible  to  conceive.  O,  tenderly  do  they  deal 
with  the  stranger's  heart.  Most  sweetly  do  they  strive  to  console 
it  for  the  lost  home  joys,  the  deep,  dear  affections  left  behind. 

Before  I  left  home,  I  talked  bravely  of  the  great  plunge  intc 
the  cold  bath  of  the  world  which  I  was  about  to  take  —  of 
the  new  life  of  entire  independence  and  self-reliance  before 
me.  My  lip  sometimes  quivered,  and  I  laughed  hysterically 
as  I  pictured  myself  as   "  the  strong-minded  woman  "  abroad. 


50  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

but  none  could  know  the  cowardly  sinking  and  sickneaa 
of  my  heart  through  all.  Yet  thus  far  have  I  taken  not 
one  lonely  and  unsupported  step.  No  sooner  had  I  reached 
the  far  foreign  land  which  had  so  appalled  me  than 
I  found  myself  so  hemmed  in  with  kindness,  so  guard- 
ed and  guided  by  friendly  care,  that  there  was,  and  is, 
imminent  danger  of  my  becoming  more  babyishly  depend- 
ent than  ever.  People  on  whose  good  offices  I  had  not  the 
least  legitimate  claim  —  mere  friends  of  my  friends  — 
rival  in  assiduous  kindness  parents,  brothers,  and  sisters, 
and  quite  outdo  and  put  to  shame  all  more  distant  blood 
relationship  whatever. 

I  am  at  present  visiting  in  the  family  of  Dr.  J.  Laurie,  a 
distinguished  physician  of  the  homoeopathic  school  —  a  man 
of  fine  scientific  attainments  and  literary  tastes,  and  politically 
of  liberal  principles.  He  is  a  true  Scot,  and  his  bonnie  wife 
was  a  Scotch  lassie.  She,  in  her  quiet  unselfishness,  in  sim- 
plicity and  earnest  truthfulness  of  character,  as  well  as  in 
shrewd  judgment  and  sterling  sense,  reminds  me  of  Jeannie 
Deans.  These,  with  their  sweet  young  children,  have  made 
much  of  my  happiness  in  London  —  have  softened  this  new, 
strange  life  of  hurry  and  excitement,  with  home  pleasures  and 
loving  sympathy. 

English  servants  are  in  their  way  a  most  admirable  class  — 
going  quietly  about  their  duties  with  a  perfection  of  system 
and  a  thorough  respectfulness,  a  dignified  humility  of  manner, 
quite  new  and  wonderful  to  an  American.  I  allude,  of  course, 
to  those  in  private  families ;  domestics,  waiters  in  hotels  and 
coffee  houses,  are  a  difi^erent  class  altogether.  Yet  I  have 
heard  an  amusing  story  of  more  than  Yankee  coolness  and 
independence  displayed  by  one  of  the  pampered  retainers  of 
a  high  dignitary  of  the  church.  The  faithful,  old-fashioned 
man  servant  of  a  country  clergyman,  on  a  visit  to  the  Arch- 
bishop of  York,  told  his  master  that,  while  sitting  one  morning 


A   TOUR    m    EUROPE.  51 

tn  the  servants'  hall,  a  bell  was  rung  violently.  Near  him  a 
richly-liveried  footman  was  lounging  in  an  easy  chair,  with  his 
heels  as  high  as  his  head,  —  for  all  the  world  like  an  American 
Congressman  legislating  at  his  ease, —  and  from  this  comforta- 
ble position  he  budged  not  an  inch  at  the  importunate  summons 
above  mentioned.  "  What ! "  cried  the  primitive  and  provin- 
cial serving  man,  "  don't  you  answer  the  drawing-room  bell?  " 
"  Not  unless  they  persewere^^'  was  the  cool  response  of  his 
footmanship. 

Thus  far,  I  have  dealt  more  with  the  people  than  the 
sights  of  London.  The  town  itself  is  such  a  stupendous 
subject,  that  I  really  know  not  where  to  grapple  on  to  it. 
A  few  days  since.  Dr.  Laurie  drove  me  round  all  the  fashion- 
able squares,  and  through  Hyde  Park  to  Kensington  Gar- 
dens, where  we  had  a  charming  stroll.  During  this  drive,  I 
saw  all  the  finest  town  residences  of  the  nobility  and  gentry. 
They  are  noble,  massive  buildings,  but  by  no  means  all  of  great 
elegance  or  architectural  beauty.  The  fashionable  squares 
enclose  s-mall  parks,  in  each  of  which  may  be  found  a  towering 
statue  —  c^me  royal  rigidity,  or  ducal  petrifaction,  stretching 
a  mouldy  sceptre  over  the  gravel  walks,  or  rearing  eternally 
on  a  furious  steed.  Regent  Street  is  most  magnificent.  I 
think  I  have  never  seen  any  thing  finer  than  the  grand  circu- 
lar sweep  it  takes.     Oxford  Street  is  also  very  handsome. 

Town  and  city,  as  well  as  country,  have  been  full  of  scenes 
of  excitement  during  the  late  elections.  These,  as  far  as  I 
was  able  to  see,  w^ere  not  a  great  way  behind  our  own  in  ani- 
mated interest  and  noisy  demonstration. 

The  liberal  party  are  quite  hopeful,  I  believe,  and  confi» 
dently  state  that  the  premier  is  soon  to  rest  from  his  labors, 
and  the  chancellor  of  the  exchequer  to.  hang  his  jewsharp 
on  the  willows. 

We  are  having  terribly  hot  weather  here,  and  showery 
England  is  belying  its  reputation.     The  united  voire  of  the 


52  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

people  is  for  rain.  Apropos :  they  tell  a  story  here  of  tht 
late  Duke  o^'  Cambridge,  who  had  a  habit  of  responding  with 
peculiar  heartiness  to  any  congenial  sentiment  uttered  in  pub- 
lic meetings,  and  even  in  church  service.  During  a  \QTy  dry 
season,  as  a  prayer  for  rain  Avas  being  solemnly  read  by  the 
minister,  his  royal  highness  called  out,  in  the  emphatic  and 
reiterative  style  of  his  illustrious  house,  "  By  all  means,  by 
all  means,  by  all  means !  "  then  added,  in  a  lower,  but  still 
distinct  tone,  "  We  shall  not  have  rain,  however,  till  the  wind 

changes." 

July  21. 

At  an  evening  party  I  lately  met  the  authoress  of  the 
charming  novels,  Olive  and  The  Head  of  the  Family.  Miss 
Mulock  is  an  Irishwoman,  about  twenty-five,  petite  and  pretty. 
In  manner  she  is  quiet  and  gentle,  while  her  smile  and  her 
voice  have  a  sort  of  dreamy  sweetness  about  them  very  pecu- 
liar, and  in  a  lionized  authoress  surely  most  agreeable  for  its 
unexpectedness. 

A  memorable  day  last  week  was  spent  with  the  Halls,  at 
their  lovely  country  residence.  "With  a  soft  and  cloudlessly 
beautiful  heaven  above,  and  all  the  leafy  and  flowery  glories 
of  an  English  summer  beneath  and  around  —  with  a  charming, 
rambling,  picturesque  house,  which  was  like  a  fairy  palace  of 
poetry  and  art  —  and  above  all,  with  such  a  host  and  hostess, 
I  should  have  been  utterly,  childishly  happy,  but  for  the  one 
shadow  which  ever  falls  on  the  path  of  the  wanderer — the 
one  sadness  which  haunts  the  heart  of  the  stranger,  —  the 
yearning  want  of  some  loved  presence  —  the  weary  pain  of  a 
lost  companionship. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall  have  revealed  the  tone  of  their 
minds  and  the  tenor  of  their  lives  through  their  books  with  a 
beautiful,  unconscious  truthfulness.  The  fine  wit  and  humor 
and  wide  knowledge  of  life,  which  give  so  much  of  richness 
and  spirit  to  their  inimitable  sketches  of  Irish  character,  flow 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  53 

into  and  inpart  a  peculiar  charm  to  conversation  and  manner; 
while  the  refined  tastes  of  artist  and  poet  are  manifest  in 
all  their  home  surroundings,  blending  in  countless  forms  o\ 
beauty,  and  taking  strange  freaks  and  qiiaintnesses  of  fancy. 

Of  our  party  that  day  was  the  authoress  of  Margaret 
IMaitland,  of  Siinnyside  —  a  fair  Scotchwoman,  not  over 
twenty-two,  a  modest,  quiet,  lovable  person,  who  seems  far 
from  having  made  up  her  mind  to  admit  the  fact  of  her  own 
genius.  Having  wakened  one  morning  to  find  herself  famous, 
she  believes  the  world  to  be  laboring  under  some  strange  de- 
lusion, and  accounts  herself  an  immensely  overrated  little 
woman,  after  all. 

On  the  day  succeeding  this  visit  I  first  saw  Joseph  Mazzini, 
—  I  had  broudit  a  letter  to  him  from  his  friend  Kossuth, — 
and  he  spent  a  generous  part  of  the  morning  with  us.  Maz- 
zini is  not  a  large  man,  though  taller,  I  should  say,  than 
Kossuth  ;  he  is  slight  in  person,  and  extremely  pale.  His  head 
is  one  of  the  grandest  I  have  ever  seen  ;  his  eyes  have  the  true 
southern  depth  of  darkness  and  gleam  of  passionate  fire,  yet 
are  softened  with  poetic  feeling,  and  are  pathetic  with  all  their 
power.  They  are  darkly  shadowed  as  by  great  sorrows  and 
weary  watchings.  To  give  an  idea  of  the  high,  generous 
thought,  the  noble  aspirations,  the  enthusiasm  and  eloquence, 
to  which  we  were  charmed  listeners  that  morning,  I  have  only 
to  say  that  Mazzini  talks  as  he  writes. 

On  Saturday  evening  we  attended  Albert  Smith's  new  en- 
tertainment, ^^Tke  Ascent  of  3 font  Blanc."  So  delighted  was 
I  with  the  wit,  the  fine  graphic  spirit,  the  charming  humor 
of  the  bold  tourist,  and  the  rare  beauty  of  his  panoramic 
illustrations,  that  I  fear  I  almost  made  myself  ridiculous 
by  my  uncontrollable  expressions  of  enthusiasm  and  pleasure. 
Yet  I  think  those  around  me  held  me  excused,  and  that  our 
entertainer  himself  would  have  pronounced-no  harsh  judgment 
upon  me.  I  know  not  wl  ether  I  had  most  delight  in  the 
5* 


54  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

tourist's  wondrous  power  of  description,  which  bears  you  witL 
him  from  Chamouni's  quiet  vale,  up,  up,  into  the  awful  Alpine 
solitudes  —  the  solemn  eternity  of  snows  —  up,  till  you  hear 
the  avalanches  thunder  from  the  far  peaks,  and  look  into  the 
yawning  fissures,  the  icy  sepulchres  of  some  who  have  gone 
before  —  up,  up,  till  you  stand  with  him  on  that  stupendous 
dome  of  ice,  and  behold  mountains,  and  seas,  and  kingdoms 
below,  and  nothing  of  all  the  earth  between  you  and  God  — 
or  in  that  daring,  delicious  wit,  which  must  have  way  even 
amid  the  sternest  Alpine  grandeurs,  as  the  gay  sunshine  plays 
over  the  glaciers,  and  slides  down  their  fearfullest  abysses. 

On  Sunday  morning  we  attended  service  in.  old  Temple 
Church,  a  rarely  beautiful  building,  but  chiefly  interesting  for 
its  late  wonderful  restoration.  At  the  time  of  Cromwell,  the 
curiously  painted  walls  and  roof,  the  fine  tessellated  pavement, 
and  the  elegant  marble  pillars  were  thickly  covered  with 
cement,  for  concealment  and  preservation.  Thus  they  re- 
mained until  a  few  years  since,  when  they  were  discovered  by 
accident,  and  restored  at  an  immense  cost. 

After  service,  we  strolled  through  the  Zoological  Gar- 
dens, where  we  saw,  I  suppose,  about  the  finest  collection 
of  animals  in  the  world.  I  wish  I  could  dash  oflT  a  sketch 
of  her  stupendous  majesty  the  great  elephantess,  with  the 
clumsy  little  prince  royal,  the  calf  elephant,  as  they  appeared 
when  enjoying  themselves  in  their  bath ;  and  of  his  royal 
highness  the  great  camelopard,  as  he  stood  stretching  his 
interminable  neck  over  the  railing,  impertinently  watching 
them  in  their  recreation.  The  rhinoceros  revelling  in  hia 
mud,  and  the  hippopotamus  rolling  lazily  in  the  water,  are 
also  a  pair  of  "beautiful  pictures  to  hang  on  memory's 
wall." 

As  the  apes  stretched  out  their  paws  to  us  through 
the  bars  of  their  cages,  begging  for  nuts  and  crackers,  I 
bhuddered  with  a  new  disgust  —  they  were  so  fearfully  like 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  55 

Ihe  squalid  little  human  beggars  along  London  streets. 
How  I  loathed  them  for  their  horrible  mockery  of  hu- 
manity ! 

I  saw  the  lions,  tigers,  leopards,  bears,  wolves,  and  hyenas, 
at  their  feeding  time.  Each  dined  off  an  undressed  hare ;  a 
mere  tidbit,  one  would  say,  to  their  savage  capacities.  They 
did  not  devour  their  delicate  morsels  at  once,  in  hungry  haste, 
but,  though  trembling  through  all  their  mighty  fibres  with  a 
fierce  relish,  they  prolonged  the  palpitating  pleasure  by  licking 
every  drop  of  blood  from  the  little  creatures,  and  daintily 
playing  with  them.  As  the  keeper  repassed,  and  struck  with 
his  pole  on  the  bars  of  their  cages,  they  opened  upon  him 
with  the  true  lion  and  tiger  spirit,  as  fierce  and  untamed  as  it 
ever  roared  through  Numidian  forests,  or  howled  out  of  an 
Indian  jungle  ;  while  live  flames  shot  from  their  eyes,  reveal- 
ing the  unquenchable  and  ineradicable  hell  of  ferocity  in  their 
blood-nurtured  natures.  Yet  there  is  a  terrible  grandeur 
about  the  creatures,  even  at  feeding  time,  which  fascinates  me. 
The  old  lion  looked  royal,  even  when  sucking  out  the  still 
beating  heart  of  the  poor  rabbit,  glaring  at  his  keeper  the 
while,  as  Napoleon  might  have  glared  on  his  hated  governor 
at  St.  Helena.  There  was  beauty  and  wild  grace  in  the  atti 
tude  of  the  velvety  pard,  for  all  the  stealthy  murder  crouch- 
ing tl  ere.  I  gazed  on  them  so  long  that  lions  were  roaring 
through  my  sleep,  leopards  stealing  softly  on  my  dreams, 
and  tigers  glaring  at  me  through  the  bed  curtains,  all  night 
long. 

Monday  we  spent  some  hours  at  the  British  Museum.  This 
sight  is  one  of  my  despairs.  It  is  a  world  of  wonders  —  an 
eternity  of  curiosities.  The  Elgin  marble^s  and  other  ancient 
statuary  were  not  to  me  all  I  expected  them  to  be  —  or  rather, 
the  woful  unsuitableness  of  the  place  for  such  grand  fragments 
of  art,  the  want  of  all  their  natural  surroundings,  made  the 
sight  almost  as  painful  as  pleasurable.     And  yet  I  had  hardly 


56  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

realized  that  the  olden,  immortal  grace  could  eo  triumph 
over  mutilation  and  decay,  and  compel  the  homage  of  even 
the  inartistic  gazer,  as  it  does  through  these  defaced  and  dilai)i- 
dated  divinities,  these  armless  graces  and  legless  heroes,  these 
tailless  horses  and  headless  riders.  So  noble  are  those  forms 
in  the  great  power  yet  perfect  symmetry  of  their  full  physical 
development,  so  free  in  action,  so  grand  in  repose,  so  beautiful 
in  half-barbaric  grace,  that  one  sighs  at  the  thought  of  a  hu- 
manity so  glorious  having  passed  aw^ay,  and  sees  a  sort  of 
sublime  pathos  in  the  long  struggle  of  Art  with  Ruin  and  Time, 
to  preserve  for  it  even  this  broken  immortality. 

Among  the  old  manuscripts  and  autographs  are  sights  to 
hurry  one's  heartbeats,  and  make  the  eager  soul  look  through 
one's  eyes  with  a  childlike  earnestness  and  reverence,  rare 
enough  in  our  every-day  life.  I  had  not  believed  it  possible 
that  I  could  be  agitated  at  merely  looking  on  words  traced  by 
the  hands  of  Shakspeare,  Milton,  Spenser,  Luther,  John 
Knox,  Charles  "  the  martyr,"  Hampden,  Cromwell,  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots,  Lady  Jane  Grey,  and  others  of  England's, 
-of  the  world's,  immortals.  I  never  could  account  for  the  effect 
■which  the  autographs  of  genius  produce  upon  our  minds,  ex- 
cept by  belief  that  something  of  the  soul,  of  the  spirituaj 
presence,  lingers  about  them  —  an  influence  which  we  feel  b^ 
some  inner  sense,  yet  but  dimly  comprehend. 

After  leaving  the  museum,  we  visited  the  exhibition  at  the 
Royal  Academy  and  the  National  Gallery.  At  the  first, 
there  were  one  or  two  noble  modern  pictures,  which 
charmed  my  heart  and  chained  my  feet  before  them  ;  and 
at  the  latter,  I  revelled  in  my  first  joy  in  the  glorious  ccncep- 
tions  and  almost  miraculous  art  of  the  great  masters.  Mu- 
rillo's  Saint  John  seemed  to  me  the  divinest  of  all ;  but  there 
was  one  of  his  Madonnas  so  saintly  beautiful  in  the  tranced 
joy  of  her  divine  maternity,  that  I  felt  my  knees  giving  way 
beneath  me,  obedient  to  the  instinct  o^  idoration. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  57 

Yesterday  I  went  with  some  American  friends  to  Windsor 
Castle  and  Virginia  Water.  It  was  a  day  to  be  marked  with 
a  white  stone,  as  having  left  on  my  heart  only  sunbright 
recollections.  Windsor  Castle  is  nobler  and  finer  every  way 
than  I  expected  to  find  it ;  truly  a  most  regal  residence  — 
the  nursery,  the  stronghold,  the  temple  of  kingliness.  While 
these  high  places  of  royalty,  gorgeous  with  the  wealth  and 
venerable  with  the  memories  of  ages,  stand  forth  as  the  pride 
and  glory  of  England,  and  the  shrines  of  romance  and  poetry 
for  all  nations,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  institution  of  monarchy 
is  safe  and  steadfast —  pillared  by  the  sacredness  of  the  past, 
the  admiration  and  imagination  of  the  present,  the  involuntary 
loyalty  of  the  world.  The  question  of  "  What  would  they  do 
with  their  palaces  ? "  never  presented  itself  seriously  to  my 
mind  at  home,  in  connection  with  the  thought  of  the  possible 
republicanization  of  England  ;  yet  here  it  comes  with  stagger- 
ing force  against  any  such  political  air  castle. 

We  had  an  order  which  took  us  through  both  the  state  and 
private  apartments,  all  of  which  are  beautiful  and  gorgeous 
beyond  my  poor  powers  of  description.  The  private  rooms 
have  the  most  of  a  home  look,  if  that  dear,,  familiar  word  can 
be  applied  to  any  thing  so  magnificent.  The  long  corridor  is 
decorated  with  some  fine  portraits,  among  which  I  was  glad  to 
see  that  of  Scott.  Of  the  rest,  the  most  interesting  were  a 
series  of  paintings  commemorative  of  the  principal  events  in 
the  life  of  Victoria.  Thus  far,  she  has  been  pretty  thoroughly 
painted.  Her  Majesty's  breakfast  parlor  is  hung  with  Win- 
terhalter's  famous  portraits  of  herself  and  Prince  Albert,  and 
with  pictures  cf  the  royal  children — taken  altogether,  a  very 
handsome  family.  From  this  room,  which  looks  out  upon  the 
terrace,  there  is  a  lovely  view  of  the  park.  In  short,  what- 
ever way  the  eye  glanced,  it  met  only  beauty,  and  luxury,  and 
splendor ;  and  I  could  but  wonder  how  those  favored  ones, 
born  to  J  he  grandeurs  and  pleasures  of  such  high  estate,  could 


58  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

bring  themselves  to  submit  to  the  inevitable  decrees  of  nature, 
and  die  with  decent  resignation  —  come  meekly  down  from  the 
throne  to  the  coffin,  go  humbly  forth  from  the  gay  palace  halls 
to  the  dark  and  narrow  house  of  the  dead.  Yet  we  must 
believe  that  the  kingly  crown  often  presses  too  tightly  around 
throbbing  brows,  till  every  gem  seems  to  shoot  a  separate  tor- 
ture into  the  brain — that  the  woman's  heart  often  aches 
sharply  under  the  queenly  ermine  —  that  the  heirs  to  thrones 
are  also  heirs  to  all  the  ills  of  humanity  —  that  the  burden  of 
mortality  weighs  more  and  more  heavily  upon  them,  till  they 
like  the  poor  wayfarers  of  life,  stretch  their  tired  arms  yearn 
ingly  towards  God's  rest.  In  the  solemn  old  chapel  of  Wind 
sor  there  is  a  beautifully-sculptured  cenotaph  to  the  memory 
of  the  Princess  Charlotte,  representing  her  in  the  attitude  in 
which  she  died  —  the  death  struggle  just  arrested,  and  all  its 
fearful  agony  stiffening  into  her  limbs.  The  light  sheet  which 
wraps  her  body  covers  her  face,  but  only  to  reveal  it  with 
more  terrible  distinctness  to  the  eye  of  imagination.  I  shud- 
dered and  recoiled  with  horror,  as  though  from  the  brink  of 
an  abyss,  when  I  found  myself  standing  over  the  dust  of 
Charles  the  First. 

The  drive  through  the  Great  Park  to  Virginia  Water,  and 
the  long,  delicious  ramble  through  those  enchanting  grounds, 
are  they  not  written  in  the  pleasantest  chronicles  of  memory  ? 
This  sweet  summer  place  was  the  darling  work  of  that  princely 
pleasurist,  George  the  Fourth.  He  was  a  spendthrift,  a  vo- 
luptuary, an  unfilial  son,  a  bad  husband,  an  indifferent  father 
-'•a  sad  fellow  in  many  respects  ;  but  he  had  exquisite  taste; 
there's  no  denying  it. 

I  must  not  forget  to  record,  with  due  gratitude  and  just  ap- 
preciation, that  the  retainers,  both  at  Windsor  Castle  and 
Virginia  Water,  are  forbidden  by  Her  Majesty  to  receive  any 
fee  from  visitors.     0,  long  may  she  reign  ! 


A   TOUK    IN    EUROPE.  59 

Jciy  30. 

The  afternoon  following  my  last  writing  I  visited  S. afford 
House  and  the  Bridgewater  Gallery  with  Lord  Carlisle,  wlio 
kindly  proffered  his  pleasant  guidance  —  an  illustrious  cicerone. 
Stafford  House,  the  town  residence  of  the  Duke  of  Sutherland, 
is,  externally,  a  building  of  no  remarkable  aspect,  though  of 
noble  dimensions  ;  but  internally  it  is  beautiful  and  gorgeous  in 
the  extreme  —  decorated  and  furnished  with  a  perfection  of  art 
and  a  refinement  of  taste  which  soften  the  glare  of  splendor, 
and  give  a  poetic  grandeur,  an  ideal  grace,  to  the  lavishment 
of  untold  riches.  There  is  ^very  where  a  meaning  in  the 
magnificence,  a  purpose  in  the  princely  display,  which  justify 
them,  at  least  to  the  artistic  sense,  and  to  the  love  of  luxury 
inherent  in  human  nature.  Every  where  you  recognize  the 
beautiful  inspirations  of  feminine  genius  for  order,  adaptaticn, 
and  arrangement.  Were  I  au  fait  in  matters  of  architect- 
ure and  upholstery,  wdiich  I  surely  am  not,  I  might  give  some 
idea  of  the  exquisite  finishing  and  furnishment  of  some  of  the 
rooms  I  saw.  One  I  shall  never  forget;  it  is  small,  and 
simply  beautiful,  peculiarly  fresh  and  summer-like,  from  its 
decorations  of  water  lilies.  The  carpet  under  your  feet  is 
flowered  w^th  this  sweet  wonder  of  aquatic  loveliness,  this 
floral  Venus  Aphrodite,  this  censer  of  purest  fragrance,  swung 
by  the  water  nymphs  under  the  waves.  It  hangs  above  us  in 
lamps,  and  through  the  large  window  we  see  it  shining  near, 
in  the  form  of  a  fountain. 

Stafford  House  is  not  so  rich  in  painting  and  statuary  as 
some  London  mansions  ;  yet  it  has  many  charming  pictures, 
and  the  walls  of  one  noble  apartment  are  enriched  by  several 
Murillos.  I  must  confess  to  an  absorbing  admiration  of  Mu- 
rillo's  Virgins.  They  have  not  the  meek-eyed  fairness,  the 
innocent,  ignorant,  lamb-like  saintliness  of  the  Madonnas  of 
the  Italian  masters ;  but  they  have  a  rich,  dark-blooded  life,  a 
luscious   ripeness  of  beauty,  joined  to  the  deep  fervor  and 


60  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

high  rapture  of  devotion,  infinitely  more  impressive  to  me» 
With  beings  whose  pulses  throb  with  the  spring  fulness  of 
healthful  and  beautiful  life,  —  whose  senses  are  all  open  to  the 
flood  tid3  of  human  passions,  —  with  natures  formed  for  love 
and  luxury,  pleasure  and  power,  holiness  is  of  some  worth, 
because  bought  with  a  price,  and  the  saintly  glory  tenfold 
more  glorious  for  the  heroic  renunciation  which  went  before. 
Therefore  do  I  love  the  Madonnas  of  Murillo,  for  their  glow- 
ing and  goi'geous  womanhood  —  not  sinless  born,  not  saintly 
because  of  a  passionless  organization,  but  sanctified  by  election 
to  the  divine  maternity  —  with  all  the  languid  fires  of  loving 
eyes  turned  heavenward,  kindled  in  holy  aspirations,  and  the 
sighs  of  passion  changed  to  prayers.  So  rich  and  splendid  is 
the  character  of  their  beauty,  that  sometimes,  on  looking  at 
one,  you  might  fancy  her  heathen  Cytherea  turned  Christian, 
with  all  her  roguish  Loves  changed  into  smiling  Cherubs  — 
except  that  they  have  all  profounder  depth  and  nobler  breadth 
of  life  than  any  Venus.  Other  pictures  may  touch  my  heart 
or  exalt  my  spirit  more  ;  but  Murillo's  throng  my  pulses  with 
a  peculiar  passionate  emotion. 

There  are  many  admirable  modern  paintings  at  Statford 
House,  chiefly  portraits ;  among  which  are  the  most  cele- 
brated pictures  of  the  magnificent  Duchess  of  Sutherland. 
Hers  is  a  beauty  so  peerless  and  perfect,  that  Time  himself 
has  reverenced  it,  and  ever  left  some  new  majestic  grace  where 
he  stole  away  a  youthful  bloom.  She  is  a  woman  worthy  to 
have  sat  to  the  Spanish  prince  of  painters, —  to  have  had  hex 
loveliness  wedded  in  immortality  with  Murillo's  art.  The 
youngest  daughter  of  the  house,  the  Lady  Constance  Gros- 
venor,  (name  of  Marquis  Westminster,)  is  exceedingly  lovely ; 
but  her  beauty  is  delicate  and  tender,  not  of  the  rich  and  regal 
type  of  her  noble  mother. 

From  Stafford  House  we  went  to  Bridgewater  House, 
which  is  near  by,  to  see  the  fine  collection  of  pictures  belong- 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  61 

ine;  to  the  Earl  of  Ellesraere,  and  known  as  the  Bridgewater 
Gallery.  The  first  thing  which  met  the  eye,  on  entering  the 
grand  hall,  was  Foley's  beautiful  marble  group  of  Ino  and 
the  infant  Bacchus.  T)ie  glass  roof  above  the  great  liall  is 
set  with  prisms,  so  that,  as  the  effulgent  sunlight  bathed  the 
fair  Ino  in  all  the  gorgeous  primal  colors,  she  seemed  like  a 
descended  Iris,  couchante  upon  the  flowery  eartli.  I  know 
not  what  is  before  me,  but  I  do  not  believe  I  shall  see  any 
thing  in  ancient  sculpture  more  graceful  than  the  uplifted 
right  arm  of  Ino,  holding  the  grapes  above  the  eager-mouthed 
Bacchus. 

Lord  Carlisle,  perhaps  a  little  unwisely,  led  me  first  to  the 
Raphaels,  of  wiiich  there  are  four  —  three  Holy  Families,  and 
one  Virgin  with  the  infant  Savior  in  her  arms.  Tiiat  moment 
swung  wide  before  me  the  gates  of  a  new,  a  higher  world  of 
art — but  I  as  yet  stand  on  the  threshold,  half  dazzled  by  the 
interior  brightness.  To  Raphael  it  seems  no  poetic  extrava- 
gance, no  sacrilegious  enthusiasm,  to  apply  the  terra  divine. 
I  cannot  conceive  how  one  can  look  on  his  pictures  long  enough 
to  get  at  their  soul  without  believing  him  to  have  been  often 
visited  with  celestial  inspirations  ;  that,  by  close  and  holy 
communion  with  Heaven,  he  obtained  the  secrets  of  creative 
power — and  that  thus  visions  of  transcendent  purity,  of 
seraphic  loveliness  and  divine  beatitude,  were  vouchsafed  to 
him.  So  peculiarly  pure  and  peaceful  is  the  atmosphere  of 
his  works,  that  one  half  believes  them  canopied  by  angel 
wings.  The  holiness  of  the  pictures  of  which  I  have  spoken 
is  the  more  impressive  from  its  contrast  with  the  splendid  sen- 
suousness  and  sumptuiusness  of  Titian's  Diana  and  her 
Nymphs  interrupted  at  the  Bath  by  Actaeon ;  Diana  and  Ca- 
listo ;  Venus  rising  from  the  Sea.  Titian,  it  seems  to  me, 
was  essentially  a  heathen  painter,  revelling  in  all  the  refine- 
ments of  natural  and  physical  beauty,  his  highest  raptures 
seldom  rising  above  the  half-sensual,  half-poetic'  joys  of 
6 


62  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

Olympus,  and  his  noblest  visions  taking  in  but  the  nude  graeefc 
and  entrancing  beauties  of  goddesses  and  njmphs.  His  col- 
oring is  so  vvondrously  soft,  yet  rich  and  radiant,  his  figures 
are  of  such  surpassing  grace  and  voluptuous  loveliness,  that  I 
should  suppose  the  young,  passionate,  and  impressible,  must, 
in  gazing  on  them  long,  feel  the  moral  sense  grow  bewildered, 
and  reel  with  the  intoxication  of  their  subtle  sensuality.  How 
different  is  it  with  the  works  of  Raphael,  over  which  the  re- 
ligious master's  reverent  genius  threw  a  calm  and  heavenly 
purity !  Of  the  Holy  Families  of  Raphael  in  the  EUesmere 
collection,  I  like  best  the  one  known  as  La  Belle  Yierge,  in 
which  the  young  St.  John  is  paying  homage  to  the  Savior. 
The  Virgin  here  is  worthy  of  the  high  office  to  which  she  was 
called  —  a  tenderly  majestic  figure,  and  beautiful  beyond  com- 
pare. She  is  standing  with  the  youthful  Jesus  before  her. 
The  young  St.  John  is  a  most  glorious  figure.  As  he  stands, 
shghtly  bent,  before  his  Master,  the  rich,  brown  hue  of  his 
complexion  contrasted  with  the  golden-haired  fairness  of  the 
Redeemer,  with  his  dark  face  kindled  with  the  rapt  joy  of 
loving  adoration,  no  humble  kneeling,  no  prone  prostration,  no 
meek  kissing  of  the  feet  could  express  such  fealty,  such  rev- 
erence, such  acceptation  and  worship.  Not  the  eyes  and 
the  smile  alone,  but  every  line  and  curve  of  the  beauteous 
form,  utters  '•'- My  Lord  and  my  GodT'  Then  the  tender, 
unconscious  sovereignty,  the  gentle,  almost  shy,  acceptance  of 
homage,  the  budding  divinity  of  the  young  Christ,  are  won- 
drous to  behold.  I  cannot  like  the  St.  Joseph  in  this  picture ; 
he  seems  to  me  an  ungracious  old  man,  devoid  of  truevener- 
ableness.  There  is  a  Palma  Vecchio  in  this  collection  which 
I  like,  especially  for  the  St.  Joseph,  who  is  younger  and 
handsomer  than  any  other  I  have  seen.  Why  the  husband 
of  Mary  should  be  made  such  a  grizzly -bearded  old  patriarch 
of,  I  never  could  conceive.  It  certainly  strikes  the  unartistic 
as  a  most  unsuitable  alliance.     I  lingered  long  before  Domeu- 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  63 

icliino's  Christ  bearing  his  Cross,  and  Vision  of  St.  Francis ; 
a  Landscape  bj  Chiude  Lorraine,  and  one  by  Salvator  Rosa ; 
a  Virgin  and  Child,  by  Correggio ;  Christ  on  the  Cross,  by 
Annibal  Caracci ;  and  Guido  Reni's  Assumption  of  the  Virgin. 
Albert  Cuyp's  Landing  of  Prince  Maurice  at  Dort  would  of 
itself  fill  a  room  with  sunlight  and  splendor ;  and  the  great 
Marine  View  of  Turner  you  cannot  gaze  on  without  feeling 
the  roll  of  heavy  seas,  the  rush  of  sprayey  winds — without 
hearing  the  rattling  of  cordage,  the  surge  of  sails,  and  the  wild 
tumult  of  the  surrounding  storm.     Paul  De  la  Roche's  superb 
and  most  pathetic  picture  of  Charles  the  First  in  the  Guard 
Room  almost   made   me  a  loyalist,  and  an   execrator  of  my 
roughhewn    hero,    Cromwell.        The    majestic   yet   mournful 
serenity,  the  martyr-like  patience,  with  which  the  poor  King 
receives  the  brutal  insults  of  the   soldiers  of  the  Parliament, 
and  the  bitter  grief  and  powerless  indignation  of  his  two  faith- 
ful followers,  are  alike  heartbreaking.     There  are  many  fine 
pictures  in  this  collection   by  the  Dutch  and  Flemish  masters; 
but  they  do  not  impress  me  very  deeply,  or  exalt  me  above 
a  wondering  admiration  at  their  richness  of  coloring  and  per- 
fection of  detail.     I  looked  at  them  all  curiously,  with  frequent 
exclamations  of  delight,  but  turned  from  them  at  last  unsatis- 
fied, and  with  a  yearning  at  my  heart  which  led  me  back  to 
stand  silent  and  subdued  before  my  Raphael,  my  St.  John, 

While  lingering  thera  I  observed  Lord  Carlisle  greet,  with 
much  cordiaHty,  a  slight,  pale,  refined,  clerical-looking  man, 
who  stood  near  us.  After  a  few  moments'  conversation,  his 
Lordship  introduced  this  gentleman  to  me  as  the  Rev.  Charles 
Kingsley,  author  of  Alton  Locke.  I  did  not  meet  him  with- 
out emotion;  for  I  had  been  most  deeply  impressed  by  the 
power  and  purpose,  the  terrible  earnestness,  of  his  writings, 
the  heart-crushing  pathos,  the  fearful  vividness  of  his  pictures 
of  misery,  of  the  mortal  desperation  of  the  struggle  of  the  poor 
with  want  and  wretchedness,  and  all  the  horrible  shapes  of  sin 


64  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

and  despair.  You  see  few  indications  of  the  impassioned 
strength  of  Mr.  Kingsley's  genius  in  his  countenance  or  con- 
versation. He  is  quiet  in  the  extreme,  even  while  talking  of 
art  like  an  artist  and  a  poet.  I  should  think  his  mental  life 
inwardly  intense,  rather  than  outwardly  demonstrative,  except 
through  the  pen.  He  spoke  of  America  with  much  interest, 
and  with  fine  appreciation  of  the  spirit  of  her  institutions. 

By  the  way,  I  meet  with  very  few  instances  of  that  igno- 
rance of  and  inditference  towards  our  country  which  I  was  told 
to  expect  in  England.  The  only  things  which  cause  me  to 
bite  my  lip  occasionally,  with  merriment,  not  vexation,  are  a 
certain  display  of  geographical  knowledge,  which  puts  me  to 
my  trumps,  and  an  overplus  of  patronizing  praise.  Yet  a 
gentleman  did  say  to  me  lately,  in  the  coolest  manner  possible, 
"  Has  not  civilization  advanced  farther  in  the  New  Ens-land 
than  in  the  other  states  of  your  Union  ?  "  It  was  quite  a  new 
sensation  to  find  myself  classed  as  "  an  outside  barbarian ; " 
for  I  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  I  was  no  New  Eng- 
lander.  I  must  say  that  I  am  not  altogether  pleased  by  the 
manner  in  which  American  slavery  is  spoken  of  here.  Peo- 
ple either  darkly  allude  to  it,  as  though  fearfully  touching  on 
some  family  disgrace,  in  your  presence,  or  come  down  upon  it, 
and  all  concerned  in  it,  with  merciless  execration,  and  seem  to 
think  it  might  be  done  away  with  easily,  speedily,  with  all  its 
evils  and  enormities ;  that  it  is  but  an  ugly  excrescence  on  the 
social  life,  which  may  be  quietly  lopped  off  at  pleasure,  and 
not  what  we  know  it  to  be,  a  deep-seated  cancer,  near  the 
vitals  of  the  Union  itself —  difficult  and  perilous  to  eradicate, 
though  more  perilous  far  if  left  alone.  Such  as  at  home  con- 
sider me  a  fanatic  would  smile  to  hear  me  in  England,  not 
defending  slavery  or  slaveholders,  —  Heaven  forbid! — but 
demanding  that  simple  justice  should  be  done,  and  patience 
exercised,  towards  us  as  a  nation  ;  and  reminding  our  judges 
that  a  like  evil  and  sin  is  not  a  half  century's  remove  from 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  65 

their  own  doors.  Yet  I  would  not  have  you  think  that  this 
subject  is  always  or  often  treated  in  a  way  to  give  me  pain. 
There  are  many  who  have  brought  great  powers  of  thought 
to  bear  upon  it,  as  one  of  the  deepest  problems  of  the  age  — 
who  give  us  their  most  generous  sympathy  and  magnanimous 
judgment;  and  comparatively  few  are  they. who  err  in  this 
matter,  through  want  of  reflection,  or  from  "  zeal  without 
knowledge." 

One  day  last  week  I  joined  some  friends  in  a  pleasure 
excursion  on  the  Thames,  got  up  by  some  of  the  city  author- 
ities—  Mr.  Francis  Bennoch  presiding.  We  went  up  the 
river  on  a  beautiful  barge,  moving  to  fine  music,  as  far  as 
Twickenham,  where  we  were  for  some  hours  moored  opposite 
Pope's  villa.  We  had  dancing,  a  sumptuous  dinner,  toasts, 
sentiments,  and  speeches  —  altogether  a  charming  time. 

The  shores  of  the  Thames  are  beautiful,  not  for  ar.y 
remarkable  picturesqueness  of  natural  scenery,  but  for  their 
admirable  cultivation,  and  a  succession  of  noble  country  aeats. 
Richmond  Hill  is  the  finest  point  I  saw,  and  that  com  iiands 
one  of  the  finest  views  in  England.  But  every  spot  in  sight 
had  been  rendered  classic  ground  by  the  genius  of  Pope, 
Thomson,  and  indeed  of  nearly  all  the  elegant  English  writers 
of  the  last  century  and  a  half.  It  stirred  up  old  memories  to 
glance  into  the  shadowy  grotto  of  Pope.  I  almost  looked  to 
see  the  crooked  and  gallant  poet  come  forth,  handing  out  the 
lovely  and  mocking  Lady  Mary.  I  would  hardly  have  been 
startled  to  have  seen  the  brilliant  trifler,  Walpole,  walking 
daintily  across  the  lawn,  or  Thomson  lounging  lazily  under  a 
tree  at  Richmond,  or  the  charming  Kitty  Clive  driving  past. 

I  have  been  visiting  in  Chelsea  for  the  week  past,  for  the 
sake  of  quiet  and  repose.  Here  it  is  ahnost  as  quiet  as  the 
country,  at  night,  and  would  be  during  the  day  but  for  the 
usual  suburban  superabundance  of  noisy  infancy  next  door, 
and  an  hourly  liability  to  the  visitations  of  pertinacious 
6  * 


r,6  HATS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

*'  Punch  and  Judy"  men  and  hopeful  hurdy-gurdy  women  bil- 
low the  front  windows.  Near  us  is  a  large  waiehouse  of 
second-hand  furniture,  where  I  yesterday  observed  a  downy- 
bearded  David  and  his  blushing  Dora  making  their  prudent 
purchases.  There  one  can  buy  every  thing  —  from  frying- 
pans  to  mirrors,  from  kitchen  chairs  to  family  portraits.  Ay, 
they  will  most  irreverently  knock  you  down  venerable  gentle- 
men in  perukes  and  powder,  and  stately  dames  in  ruffs  and 
farthingales.  There  are  plenty  of  these  worthy  old  people  to 
bo  had  at  various  depots  of  this  kind  in  London  ;  so  when  you 
go  to  housekeeping  you  can  easily  furnish  yourself  with  a 
few  ancestors  at  a  very  moderate  price,  and  warranted  re- 
spectable. 

Tuesday  afternoon  and  evening  were  spent  with  a  delightful 

parly  at  Mr.  B 's  pleasant  place,  Blackheath.     Among 

the  guests  were  the  Croslands,  the  Mackays,  —  the  hearty, 
generous-spirited  poet  and  his  beautiful  wife,  —  Miss  Pardee, 
a  very  charming  person,  Sir  Henry  Bisliop,  the  composer, 
Dr.  Kinkel,  the  German  patriot,  and  his  wife,  who  played  a 
heroic  part  in  his  escape  from  Germany  —  an  interesting  and 
accomplished  lady,  who  touches  the  piano  with  rare  skill,  and 
sings  with  peculiar  sweetness,  though  with  tones  of  mournful 
meaning,  and  all  the  vain  homesickness  of  the  exile  sighing 
through  her  voice. 

This  morning  I  went  again  to  the  Bridgewater  Gallery, 
chiefly  to  see  my  blessed  St.  John  and  the  beautiful  child 
Jesus.  This  afternoon  I  have  been  listening  to  the  grand, 
inspiring  talk  of  Mazzini ;  and  with  a  prayer  that  the  glorious 
land  of  the  divine  painter  and   the  patriot  hero  may  yet  be 

free,  1  go  to  my  sleep. 

»***♦* 

AUGVST  6. 

On  Monday  evening  last,  my  passion  for  horse  flesh  and 
«ome  mirthful  recollections  of  Bon  Gaultier's  ballads  of  the 


A    TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  67 

ring  led  me  to  suggest  Astley's  to  the  kind  friends  who  were 
inquiring  what  we  should  have  next  in  the  way  of  amusement. 
The  building  is  very  fine  for  the  purpose,  but  the  audience  on 
this  night  was  neither  large  nor  select ;  indeed,  it  was  the 
lowest  and  noisiest  house  I  ever  looked  down  upon  and  up  at, 
for  the  pit  and  gallery  held  nearly  all.  It  was  an  odd  sight  to 
me  to  see  baskets  of  cakes  and  oranges,  and  cans  of  beer,  car- 
ried about  between  the  acts ;  to  see  old  men  and  women, 
such  as  with  us  are  never  seen  out,  except  it  be  at  church  or 
prayer  meeting,  young  men  in  their  working  dress,  and  their 
wives  and  babies  in  arms,  all  eating  and  drinking,  and  having 
a  jolly  laugh  or  a  cosy  gossip  with  their  cronies. 

The  spectacle  —  "  Peter  the  Great  "  —  was  very  beautiful, 
and  much  of  the  acting  fine,  though  nature  was  every  where 
sacrificed  to  stage  etfect.  We  saw  some  magnificent  riding 
under  the  direction  of  that  illustrious  personage  of  a  mysteri- 
ously uncertain  age,  Mr.  Widdicombe. 

On    Wednesday    I    visited,    with    Mr.    B and    our 

charming  friend  Miss  D ,  the  immense  wine  vaults  and 

tobacco  warehouses  at  the  Docks.  These  vaults  extend  over 
acres,  and  are  richly  stored  with  the  genuine  juice  of  the 
grape,  piled,  pipe  on  pipe,  on  either  side  of  innumerable  and 
seemingly  interminable  passages  -. —  the  delightsome  paths  of 
Bacchus,  the  pleasant  longas  vias  of  old  Silenus  and  his  crew 
Without  a  guide,  one  might  easily  be  lost  in  this  subterranean 
labyrinth,  and  wander  for  hours  in  this  wilderness  of  wines, 
find  himself  quite  at  sea,  though  not  far  from  Port,  and  just 
off  Madeira.  What  a  horrible  place  of  torment  in  which  to 
confine  some  ancient  inebriate,  without  the  means  of  helping 
himself  to  that  which  his  soul  loveth  —  wine,  wine  on  every 
side,  "  and  not  a  drop  to  drink." 

From  the  Docks  we  went  to  the  Tower.  This  I  found  far 
from  being  the  gloomy  and  venerable  building  I  had  expected 
to  see.     The  larger  portion  is  oi  light-gray  stone,  showing 


68  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

much  white  mortar.  This,  and  some  repairs  lately  made,  gi^'e 
the  whole  stinicture  a  modern  and  cheerful  appearance,  which 
it  requires  all  the  dark  splendors  and  tragic  terrors  of  old 
memories  and  historical  legends  to  overshadow  and  render 
venerahle. 

Escorted  by  a  warden  in  the  costume  of  the  yeomen  of  the 
guard  of  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.,  you  enter  the  horse  armory 
at  the  south-west  corner  of  the  White  Tower.  Here  you  see 
the  effigies  of  the  kings,  from  Edward  I.  to  James  II.,  with 
many  of  their  distinguished  knights  and  nobles,  all  mounted 
and  clad  in  the  veiy  armor  they  sported,  or  rather  supported, 
at  tourney  and  fight.  Francis  Hastings  bears  up  gallantly 
under  a  suit  weighing  upwards  of  a  hundred  pounds.  The 
beautiful  suits  of  Elizabeth's  lovers,  Leicester  and  Essex,  are 
quite  in  character  with  the  courtly  splendor  of  those  ill-fated 
favorites. 

Perhaps  the  most  magnificent,  though  one  of  the  least  an- 
cient suits,  is  that  of  Charles  I.  It  is  gorgeously  gilt  and 
ornamented  in  arabesque.  This  gallery  also  contains  count- 
less curiosities  of  war,  all  varieties  of  arms,  and  glorious  tro- 
phies of  battle  and  conquest.  It  is  a  place  for  English  hearts 
to  beat  high  and  swell  with  national  pride.  Queen  Elizabeth's 
armory  is  the  gallery  of  greatest  interest.  It  contains  an 
equestrian  figure  of  Her  Virgin  Majesty  in  the  costume  in  which 
she  went  to  St.  Paul's  to  return  thanks  for  the  destruction  of 
the  Spanish  Armada.  Here  are  many  curious  weapons,  very 
ancient  and  awful ;  such  as  the  "  Military  Flail,"  the  "  Catch- 
pole,"  the  "  Glaive,"  the  "  Poleaxe,"  the  "  Lochaber  Axe," 
and  most  horrible  of  all,  for  the  infernal  mockery  of  its  name, 
the  "  Morning  Star,"  or  "  Holy  Water  Sprinkler."  The  first 
name  comes  from  its  form,  a  ball  of  wood  set  with  si)ikes,  and 
fixed  on  the  end  of  a  pole  ;  the  "  holy  water  "  was  the  blood 
and  brains  it  scattered  around  when  it  was  swung  by  a  strong 
arm  iv  the  thick  of  the  battle,     i  stood  with  a  sick  heai't  by 


A    TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  69 

the  instruments  of  torture,  laid  my  hand  upon  tliem,  studied 
the  atrocious  ingenuity  of  their  contrivance,  yet  could  not  be- 
lieve the  revolting  truth,  that  in  the  reign  of  a  queen,  a  very 
M'oman,  one  would  say,  regarding  her  weaknesses,  human 
forms  had  writhed  within  them,  human  bones  and  sinews 
cracked  under  them,  human  hearts  burst  with  excess  of  pain, 
true  human  souls  grown  wild  and  shrieked  out  false  con- 
fessions. O,  as  I  longer  gazed  on  these  dread  implements, 
with  what  unspeakable  reverence  I  thought  of  them  who  had 
"  endured  unto  the  end,"  till  with  lips  stiffened  and  eyes  im- 
purpied  with  suppressed  anguish,  till  bathed  with  the  blood 
and  sweat  of  extremest  torture,  and  old  with  ages  of  agony 
compressed  into  one  mortal  hour,  the  panting  life  crushed  out, 
the  senseless  body  grew  deathly  still,  and  the  faithful  spirit 
rose  serene  above  its  merciless  tormentors,  above  its  gloomy 
prison  house  to  its  rest  on  the  bosom  of  the  Crucified ! 

Opening  out  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  armory  is  the  dungeon 
wherein  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was  confined  for  more  than 
twelve  years,  and  where  he  wrote  his  History  of  the  World. 
You  feel,  while  standing  in  that  dark  and  most  gloomy  cell,  a 
singular  mingling  of  admiration,  indignation,  wonder,  and 
pity.  0  the  unimaginable  humiliation,  pain,  and  weariness 
of  such  a  life  to  him,  the  princely  courtier,  the  brave  adven- 
turer, the  statesman,  philosopher,  and  poet ! 

Just  before  Raleigh's  cell  stands  the  beheading  block  ;  not 
the  one  used  at  his  execution,  but  the  one  on  which  Lords 
Balmerino,  Kilmarnock,  and  Lovat  suffered  the  penalty  of 
treason.  The  marks  of  the  axe  are  deep  upon  it.  Their 
Lordships'  headsman  must  have  been  a  sturdy  fellow,  who 
struck  steadily,  heavily,  and  but  once.  The  beheading  axe, 
which  stands  near  this  block,  is  rusty  and  blunt,  by  no 
means  a  formidable-looking  implement ;  yet  it  once  went 
ijleaming  dawn  on  to  the  neck  of  the  princely  Essex,  and  sent 


70  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

the  rich  youn^  blood  of  Anna  Boleyn  spurting  into  the  face 
of  the  headsman. 

Within  the  Church  of  St.  Peter,  under  the  pavement,  lie 
the  ashes  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  Anna  Boleyn,  Rochford, 
Catharine  Howard,  Essex,  Northumberland,  Lady  Jane  Grey 
and  her  husband,  and  of  many  others  whose  names  are  crim- 
son illuminations  through  page  after  page  of  English  history. 

The  Council  Chamber  of  the  White  Tower  is  a  place  of 
great  interest,  as  having  been  the  scene  of  the  impeachment 
of  Lord  Hastings  by  Richard  of  Gloucester. 

The  building  in  which  the  young  princes  were  suffocated  is 
called  the  "  Bloody  Tower ; "  that  in  which  Clarence  was 
drowned  the  "  Bowyer  Tower."  We  were  shown  the  re- 
mains of  a  tree  planted  by  Nell  Gwynn  over  the  young  princes. 
The  "Traitor's  Gate"  is  a  gloomy  arch ;  and  the  church  and 
the  "Brick  Towers,"  the  prison  of  Lady  Jane  Grey,  are 
melancholy-looking  buildings.  But  aside  from  these,  the  old 
palace  prison  of  England  is  outwardly  neither  stern  nor  sad 
of  aspect. 

The  regalia  is  a  magnificent  sight,  almost  blinding  one  with 
the  blaze  of  its  costly  splendor.  Tlie  great  diamonds  seem  to 
throb  with  living  radiance,  like  stars ;  the  rubies  seem  melting 
in  an  effulgent  glow,  and  the  emeralds  dissolving  in  liquid 
light. 

From  the  Tower  we  went  to  Greenwich  by  water,  —  a 
charming  little  trip,  —  and  visited  the  gallery  and  chapel  of 
the  noble  Marine  Hospital.  There  are  in  the  gallery  many 
fine  portraits,  busts,  and  pictures  of  sea  combats ;  and  of  the 
latter,  some  which  are  simply  terrific  and  revolting. 

Nelson  is  glorified,  almost  deified,  in  a  series  of  pictures  by 
different  and  widely-differing  hands.  But  no  most  vivid  and 
heroic  representation  so  realized  to  me  the  splendid  figliter  and 
the  great-souled  man  as  the  sight  of  the  clothes  he  wore  when 
be  fell,  still  dark  with  the  stains  of  his  deep  death  wound. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  71 

It  is  a  pathetic  and  yet  a  pleasant  sight  to  see  the  gallant 
old  sailors  who  fought  under  him  walking  about  this  palace- 
like hospital,  or  sitting  in  the  shade  together,  smoking,  and 
telling  old  yarns  of  the  sea.  Most  of  them  have  lost  an  arm, 
or  a  leg,  or  perhaps  both ;  many  are  very  old  and  feeble,  yet 
all  seem  contented  and  happy. 

It  strike?  me  that  the  public  charities  of  England  are 
grandly  conceived  and  nobly  carried  out.  What  is  to  be  done 
in  that  way,  ^f  not  done  quickly,  is  well  done,  here,  wdiere 
alone  you  find  the  perfection  of  system  and  thoroughness. 

We  dined  at  Greenwich  with  a  small  but  merry  party  of 
friends,  when  I  was  first  regaled  with  white  hate,  a  delicate 
and  delicious  little  fish,  evidently  intended  for  the  royal  ban- 
quets of  Oberon  and  Titania.  After  dinner  we  drove  over 
to  Blackheath,  where  we  spent  a  delightful  evening.  On  our 
return  to  town,  late  at  night,  we  crossed  the  Suspension  Bridge 
on  foot,  and  had  a  grand  moonlight  view  of  the  Thames, 
crowded  with  boats  and  barges,  and  of  the  vast  city,  with  its 
innumerable  lights  gleaming  out  from  the  heavy  night  shad- 
ows. Even  at  that  hour  the  sound  of  its  restless  life  beat  on 
the  ear  like  the  roar  of  the  sea. 

On  Thursday  night  I  saw  Grisi  and  Mario,  in  Le  Prophete. 
They  were  both  glorious,  though  this  opera  is  better  calculated 
to  display  the  acting  and  person  of  Mario  than  those  of  Grisi. 
Iler  singing  is  beyond  conception  delicious  in  some  passages 
—  the  very  soul  of  maternity,  the  tenderest  motherhood,  with 
all  its  exquisite  pain,  and  more  than  queenly  pride,  spoke,  and 
sighed,  and  quivered,  through  her  voice  —  so  I  was  content  to 
miss  her  grand  displays  of  power  and  passion.  Her  beauty 
was  somewhat  in  eclipse  from  the  plain,  matronly,  unbecom- 
ing costume  of  her  part ;  but  I  could  nevertheless  see  that  sne 
was  a  most  superb  woman.  Her  wondrous  Italian  eyes,  out 
rf  their  intense  darkness,  sending  beautiful  lambent  glearas« 


72  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

would   lemind   you    of  that  exquisite  verse   in    Tennyson's 
Dream  of  Fair  Women  :  — 

"  When  she  made  pause  I  knew  not  for  delight ; 
For  sudden  from  the  ground 
She  raised  her  piercing  orbs,  and  filled  with  light 
The  intervals  of  sound." 

Mario  is  a  singularly  handsome  person,  with  face  all  aglow 
with  manly  passion.  His  voice  seems  to  pour  in  upon  and 
flow  over  one's  soul  a  flood  of  clearest  music  —  every  wave, 
every  slightest  ripple  of  sound,  making  a  separate  melody, 
rounded  and  pure,  yet  all  flow^ing  on  in  noble  harmony. 

The  Covent  Garden  Opera  House  is  a  grand  sight  of  itself, 
and  the  getting  up  of  this  opera  surpassed  all  I  had  ever  be- 
held in  scenic  splendor.  The  audience  was  large  —  brilliant 
in  spite  of  the  season  —  apparently  appreciative,  and  certain- 
ly enthusiastic.  But  it  is  my  unpleasant  duty  to  record  that 
on  this  nio^ht  I  saw  a  most  strikin^r  evidence  of  the  want  of 
gallantry  in  English  gentlemen.  In  the  pit,  more  tickets  had 
been  sold  than  there  were  seats  to  answer;  and  I  saw  fair, 
delicate  young  ladies,  and  feeble-looking  elderly  ladies,  stand 
during  the  entire  performance,  more  than  four  hours,  while 
around  them  on  every  side  sat  vigorous-looking  young  men, 
and  burly,  middle-aged  gentlemen,  apparently  without  once 
thinking  of  offering  to  the  half-fainting  women,  even  for  a 
little  time,  the  seats  which  in  many  cases  they  had  secured  by 
superior  force  and  astounding  rudeness  in  rushing  before  and 
crowding  back  the  "  weaker  vessels,"  whose  maiden  modesty 
and  feminine  dependence  they  sentimentalize  about  and  take 
advantage  of.  I  could  not  pay  too  high  a  tribute  to  the  Eng- 
lish gentlemen  I  have  met  in  society  for  their  kindly  courtesy 
and  dignified  politeness  ;  but  I  must  say  that  no  roughest 
boors,  I  had  almost  said  hears^  can  surpass  in  rude  selfishness 
and  cool  incivility  the  promiscuous  Britons  in  omnibuses  and 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  73 

steamers,  the  general  John  Bull  of  public  assemblies.  My 
own  countrymen,  how  inexpressibly  proud  I  feel  of  them  for 
the  generous  kindness,  the  chivalric  gallantry,  which  every 
where  mark  their  manner  towards  woman,  in  whatever  guise 
or  character  she  appeals  to  tliem.  How  gratefully  and 
mournfully  I  think  of  them  when  I  am  elbowed  and  thrust 
hither  and  thither  in  crowded  passages  to  places  of  amuse- 
ment, or  when  I  am  sent  pitching  headlong  to  the  farthest  end 
of  an  omnibus  —  for  here  the  gentlemen  move  towards,  not 
from,  the  door,  when  a  lady  gets  into  that  commodious  vehicle. 
O  young  and  gallant  republican,  let  it  still  be  your  pride  to  sus- 
tain this  honorable  distinction  of  the  American  gentleman  —  a 
chivalric  consideration  for  woman  ;  yet  be  grateful,  not  boast- 
ful;  for,  as  the  old  Turk  said  to  his  son,  while  pointing  to  the 
Franks,  "  But  for  the  special  grace  of  God,  you  might  have 
been  as  one  of  these." 

August  7. 

To-day  I  have  made  a  devout  pilgrimage  to  the  grave  of 
Milton,  in  the  parish  church  of  Cripplegate.  The  spot  where 
the  divine  poet  sleeps  the  sleep  of  the  blessed  is  marked  alone 
by  a  fine  bust  and  a  small  tablet.  Pews  are  built  over  the 
vault,  which  I  do  not  like  ;  for  JMilton's  grave  is  too  sacred 
even  to  be  knelt  upon  by  strangers  and  the  inconsiderate,  it 
may  be,  in  mechanical  obedience  to  a  mere  religious  form. 

This  is  a  quaint,  shadowed  old  church,  where  at  night  one 
would  step  softly,  in  breathless  awe,  and  listen,  half  hoping  to 
hear  angels  chanting  solemn  anthems  over  the  dust  of  him 
who  so  grandly  told  the  wondrous  story  of  creation,  of  the 
fall  and  redemption  of  man,  and  who  sung  God's  praise  \n 
such  hi^h,  seraphic  strains. 

In  this  church  Oliver  Cromwell  was  married.     Who  ever 
thinks  of  the  stern  Puritan  leader  as  a  lover  ?     And  yet  such 
grand,  craggy  natures  as  his  have  often  the  peacefuUest,  most 
7 


74  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS. 

sheltered  nesting-places  for  the  gentlest  human  affections.  1 
doubt  not  he  felt  for  his  young  bride  a  deep  and  manly  de- 
votion ;  and  tliat  he  dearly  loved  at  least  one  of  his  daugh 
ters,  we  have  pathetic  evidence  in  the  history  of  his  last 
Bad  days. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Wales.  —  Irish  Channel.  —  Dublin.  —  Cork.  —  Blakney  Castlb. 
—  The  Blvrney  Stone. — The  Country.  —  The  People. — 
MoNKSTowN.  —  En  Route  for  Killarney.  —  Glengariff.  —  A 
Character.  —  Killarney.  —  Excursions.  —  Ascent  of  Mangeb- 
TON.  —  The  dark-bearded  Tourist.  —  Ross  Castle. — "Paddy 
Blake."  —  The  Shannon.  —  Limerick.  —  Dublin.  —  Sir  Philip 
Crampton.  —  Model  Prison.  —  Lunatic  Asylum.  —  Donnybrook 
Eair.  —  Dublin  Society. 

Dublin,  August '2^. 

I    LEFT    London   on   the    morning  of   the   10th,  with   my 

friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B ,  for  a  tour  in  Ireland.     There 

was  little  on  our  way  of  particular  interest  till  we  reached 
Chester,  that  famous  old  town,  which  figures  so  largely  in  the 
annals  of  border  warfare.  The  Roman  walls  are  still  very 
perfect  and  imposing,  and  the  entire  place  seems  hushed  and 
slumberous  with  grand  ancient  memories  and  the  sombre  spirit 
of  antiquity.  We  passed  the  town  of  Flint,  in  whose  castle 
Richard  II.  was  imprisoned  ;  Cole's  Hill,  the  scene  of  a  bloody 
battle  between  Henry  II.  and  the  Welsh ;  and  Holywell, 
which  contains  "St.  Winifred's  Well,"  an  exhaustless  fount 
of  romance  and  poetry.  The  wide  "  Sands  of  Dee "  re- 
minded us  of  that  exquisite  song  in  Alton  Locke.  We 
caught  at  Rhyl  a  distant  view  of  the  lovely  vale  of  Clwyd  — 
Vve  halved  our  admiration  between  Rhuddlan  Castle  in  ruins 
and  Penrhyn  Castle  in  its  glory  —  between  the  wondrous 
tubular  bridge  and  the  old  Castle  of  Conway,  into  which  we 
emerged ;  for  this  grand  turreted  stronghold  forms  part  of  the 
railway  station ;  and  we  rush  with  irreverent  noise  and  haste 

(75) 


76  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

into  the  scenes  of  ancient  princely  splendor  and  rude  warlike 
state. 

The  mountains  of  Wales,  as  far  as  I  made  their  ac- 
quaintance, are  not  of  inviting  or  peculiarly  picturesque  as- 
pect. Those  on  our  way  struck  me  as  miserably  bare  and 
bleak,  without  sublimity  of  height  or  beauty  of  outline. 
"Wales  has  better  mountains,  if  they  would  ever  come  to  one 
—  but  they  require  to  be  done  in  a  separate  tour,  lying  otf 
from  railway  routes,  or  at  least  turning  their  best  faces  away. 
The  soil  of  Wales  seems  extremely  unproductive,  except  in 
some  of  the  valleys  —  the  people  poor,  but  every  where  in- 
dustrious. The  women  seem  to  have  a  strange  fancy  for 
donning  the  hats,  and  in  some  instances  the  coats,  of  the  men. 
One  sturdy  damsel  I  saw  milking  by  the  wayside,  who,  with 
one  unmentionable  exception,  might  have  passed  for  a  Welsh 
Bloomer.  What  articles  of  feminine  gear  the  men  take  pos- 
session of;  by  way  of  reprisal,  I  did  not  discover. 

The  passage  from  Holyhead  to  Kingstown  was  accom- 
piished  in  four  houcs  ;  but  throughout  the  trip  I  felt  that  I 
would  sooner  cross  the  Styx  to  the  Plutonian  shores  than  at- 
tempt it  again.  I  thought  that  I  had  sounded  the  lowest 
depths  of  mortal  suffering  in  the  way  of  seasickness ;  but  1 
found  that  my  Atlantic  experiences  were  but  a  faint  prelude 
to  a  mild  suggestion  of  this.  A  gentleman  at  Cork  told  me 
an  anecdote  of  a  company  of  emigrants  who  were  observed 
passing  back  and  forth  on  one  of  the  ferry  boats  during  an 
entire  day,  and  when  questioned  in  regard  to  their  strange 
movements,  answered,  they  were  bound  to  America  in  the  next 
ship,  and  were  "practising  at  the  saysickness,  just."  So  the 
tourist  in  the  utmost  he  may  endure  on  an  Atlantic  voyage, 
before  crossing  the  Irish  Ciiannel,  may  have  the  consolation 
of  knowing  that  he  is  but  "  practising  at  saysickness." 

At  Kingstown  we  were  treated  to  a  taste  of  nationality  in 
the  shape  of  a  bit  of  a  row  between  two  carmen.     At  the 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  77 

Dublin  station  we  took  that  peculiar  and  distinctive  Trisli 
vehicle,  an  outside  jaunting  car,  which  has  the  merit  of  giving 
you  a  variety  in  the  way  of  exercise — joltings,  backwards, 
forwards,  and  sidewise  —  a  vigilant  and  vigorous  endeavor  to 
keep  yourself  and  your  luggage  on,  and  an  alert  watchfulness 
to  keep  other  vehicles  off.  There  are  two  kinds  of  jaunting 
cars,  which  are  thus  distinguished  by  the  Irish  carman :  "  The 
outside  car,  yer  honor,  has  the  wheels  inside,  and  the  inside 
car  has  the  wheels  outside." 

We  put  up  at  the  Gresham  Hotel,  an  admirable  house,  on 
noble  Sackville  Street.  In  the  morning  we  took  a  car,  and 
saw  as  much  of  the  town  as  the  weather,  which  came  on  chill 
and  showery,  would  permit.  Dublin  is  indeed  a  beautiful  city 
—  many  of  its  public  buildings  are  remarki^bly  fine,  its  pri- 
vate residences  handsome  and  tasteful,  and  its  extensive  park 
a  treasure  of  flowery  loveliness,  leafy  luxuriance,  and  pure, 
delicious  airs.  As  we  drove  along  the  Liffey,  our  driver 
pointed  out  the  bridges  by  name.  "This,"  said  he,  at  last, 
«is  'Bloody  Bridge,'  th-  oldest  of  all."  «  Why  is  it  called 
*  Bloody  Bridge  ?  '  "  I  asked.  The  man  bent  back  towards  me, 
and  sunk  his  voice  to  a  hoarse  whisper,  as  he  replied,  "  Be- 
case,  mi&s,  it  was  off  this  they  hung  the  poor  rebels  in  '98, 
and  left  them  hanging  till  they  dropped  pacemale  into  the 
wather." 

The  railway  station  from  which  we  left  for  Cork,  3n  the 
following  morning,  might  almost  be  mistaken  for  a  palace  at  a 
little  distance  —  a  truly  elegant  structure.  I  am  impressed 
by  the  excellence  of  the  system  adopted,  both  here  and  in 
Kngland,  of  putting  all  the  officials  attached  to  the  railways 
in  a  sort  of  uniform.  It  prevents  all  confusion  and  possibility 
of  mistake  —  it  is  neat  and  orderly  in  itself,  and  is  suggestive 
of  a  thorough  system  and  a  responsible  authority.  I  hope, 
most  heartily,  to  see  a  similar  regulation  prevailing  on  the 
great  railway  routes  at  home,  where  the  most  important 
7* 


78  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

officials  seldom  wear  any  distinguishing  badge.  But  we  have 
the  advantage  in  the  system  of  checking  baggage  —  a  protec- 
tive policy  so  simple,  convenient,  and  effective,  that  I  wondor 
it  has  not  been  universally  adopted.  As  it  is  here,  porters 
often  walk  off  with  the  wrong  box  to  the  right  cab,  or  the 
right  box  to  the  wrong  cab.  All  sorts  of  absurd  mistakes  are 
made  in  the  hurry  of  departures  and  confusion  of  great  ar- 
rivals—  quiet  old  gentlemen  grov/  fussy  and  fumy  in  standing 
guard  over  their  trunks  and  portmanteaus,  against  the  incur- 
sions of  marauding  cabmen  ;  and  female  tourists  only  gain 
and  retain  possession  of  their  various  and  multifarious  parcels 
by  the  watchful  anxiety  shown  by  the  old  lady  of  "  big  box, 
little  box,  bandbox  and  bundle  "  memory. 

The  route  from  Dublin  to  Cork  leads  mostly  through  a  bar- 
ren, boggy,  miserable  country,  with  here  and  there  an  oasis 
of  waving  green  and  gold,  telling  of  careful  cultivation  and 
wise  husbandry.  There  are  some  fine  old  ruins  along  the 
way,  among  which  I  best  remember  those  of  Kilmallock, 
Kildare,  where  the  pious  nuns  once  kept  the  holy  fires  burn- 
ing "  through  long  ages  of  darkness  and  storm,"  Loughman 
Castle,  and  the  Rocks  of  Dunaraore  and  Cashel.  But  all 
alono^  the  line  the  ruins  are  almost  countless.  You  grow  mor- 
tally  weary  of  crumbling  turrets,  tumble-down  gateways,  bat- 
tered arches,  and  staggering  towers,  all  standing  out  boldly  in 
the  sun  and  storm  ;  for  the  absence  of  trees  and  shrubbery 
is  a  marked  feature  in  the  agricultural  districts  of  Ireland. 
Indeed,  the  larger  part  of  this  ill-fated  isle  seems,  in  contrast 
with  fruitful,  prosperous,  beautiful  England,  a  wild,  weary, 
shadowless  waste  —  scathed,  peeled,  desolated,  and  aban- 
doned. 

At  Cork,  we  put  up  at  the  Imperial,  another  excellent  ho- 
tel, and  after  dinner  had  a  delightful  drive  about  the  town, 
which,  handsome  in  itself,  is  admirably  situated.  We  visited 
*he  Queen's  College,  a  new  and  beautiful  edifice,  and  took  a 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  79 

look  at  the  Lunatic  Asylum,  also  a  verj  fine  building.  By 
the  way,  I  am  pained  while  gratified  to  find,  in  each  large 
town  I  have  visited  in  Ireland,  large  establishments  of  this 
kind.  Insanity  and  idiocy  are  said  to  prevail  to  a  heart- 
sickening  extent  in  this  unhappy  country. 

On  the  following  morning,  amid  golden  sunshine  and  silvery 
showers,  we  drove  to  Blarney  Castle,  and  wandered  through 
those  umbrageous  grounds  immortalized  by  the  poet  in  the 
famous  song  of  the  "  Groves  of  Blarney."  The  castle  itself  is  a 
noble  old  ruin,  and  its  situation  and  surroundings  are  remark- 
ably picturesque  and  curious.  There  are  natural  subterranean 
passages  leading  down  to  the  lake,  and  a  black  dungeon, 
where,  according  to  our  guide,  "  Cromwell,  the  bloody  nagur," 
confined  his  prisoners.  The  lake  is  small,  but,  according  to 
the  above-mentioned  authority,  quite  bottomless.  He  told  us, 
with  a  grave  face,  that  the  late  "  Lady  Jeffers,"  having  taken 
a  whim  into  her  head  to  draw  \t  off,  had  a  drain  dug  full  three 
feet  below  the  surface,  but  not  a  drop  would  run  out;  —  a 
sturdy,  conservative  old  lake.  We  ascended  the  great  tower, 
at  the  top  of  which  we  all  kissed*  the  new  Blarney  stone  —  it 
being  morally  and  physically  impossible  for  ladies  to  salute 
the  real  Simon  Pure,  which  is  outside  the  wall,  some  feet  from 
the  summit.  The  gentlemen  who  accomplish  this  feat  must 
be  held  by  the  feet  over  the  wall,  one  hundred  and  twenty 
feet  from  the  ground,  by  a  stout  guide,  who  is  liable  to  bo 
seized  with  a  sudden  weakness,  and  to  call  out  that  he  must 
stop  "  to  spit  on  his  hands  "  —  that  he  can  hoiold  on  no  longer, 
unless  his  fee  is  double ;  and  the  unhappy  dog  in  suspense 
pledges  himself  to  a  treat.  Our  guide  assured  me  that  the 
new  Blarney  stone  w^as  quite  as  good  as  the  "  rale  "  —  that  a 
certain  "  widdy  lady  "  made  a  pilgrimage  all  the  way  from  the 
North  of  England,  kissed  the  spurious  stone  most  rapturously, 
and  made  a  great  match  soon  after.  The  question  arises,  La^ 
the  virtue  in  the  stone,  or  in  the  pilgrim's  faith  ? 


80  HAPS    AND    3IISHAPS    OF 

Our  return  drive  was  very  charming  —  the  rain  was  past, 
and  sunlight  and  fresh  breezes  poured  beauty  and  gladness  on 
our  way.  I  cannot  remember  to  have  seen  any  where,  within 
so  short  a  distance,  so  many  wild  flowers.  The  shrubbery 
was  more  luxuriant,  the  trees  finer  and  more  abundant,  than 
we  had  before  seen  —  every  thing  on  our  path  was  beautiful 
and  gracious  save  the  humanity,  which  was  wretched  and 
poverty-stricken  in  the  extreme.  From  the  miserable  little 
mud  huts  along  the  road  ran  scores  of  children,  of  all  sizes, 
bareheaded,  barefooted,  and  barelegged,  with  rags  of  all 
imasjinable   hues    and   textures    flutterins^    in   the   wind,   and 

CD  HD  7 

attached  to  their  bodies  by  some  unknown  and  mysterious 
law  of  attraction  —  certainly  by  no  visible  bond  or  support. 
With  faces  begrimed  by  smoke,  and  wild  eyes  overhung  with 
wilder  locks,  they  stretched  out  their  dirty,  beseeching  palms, 
and  assailed  us  on  all  sides  of  our  outside  car  —  most  assailable 
of  vehicles  —  fit  contrivance  for  a  beggared  land. 

Irish  carmen  are  a  race  of  Jehus  —  driving  with  eccentric 
flourishes  of  the  whip,  and,  when  more  than  usually  excited, 
with  strange  barbaric  whoops  and  hellos,  making  their  odd 
little  vehicles  jump  along  at  an  astonishing  rate.  They  are 
commonly  communicative  and  amusing,  though  by  no  means 
the  quaint,  cunning,  delightful,  inimitable  wags  and  wits  your 
Lovers  and  Levers,  your  Edgeworths  and  Halls,  have  pic- 
tured. It  is  a  singular  thing,  that,  though  they  are  from  the 
first  free  and  easy  in  word  and  manner,  they  are  never  offen- 
sively so.  Native  tact,  good  humor,  and  warmth  of  heart 
take  from  their  advances  all  appearance  of  boldness  or  imper- 
tinence. Our  driver  on  this  occasion  was  disposed  to  be  par- 
ticularly sociable,  though  not  in  the  jocular  way.  He  was  a 
man  of  much  intelligence  for  his  station,  of  a  serious,  even 
sad,  expression  of  face ;  and  he  talked  powerfully  and  with 
intense  bitterness  of  the  wrongs  and  sorrows  of  the  Irish 
peasantjy.     I  was  strick  by  hearing  him  ascribe  most  of 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  81 

their  sufferings,  not  to  the  English  government,  but  to  the  na- 
tive Irish  proprietors,  who,  he  averred,  had  revelled  in  heart- 
less, wasteful  extravagance,  while  the  people  starved,  until 
since  the  failure  of  the  potato,  when  many  of  them  have  been 
reduced  to  absolute  want.  It  was  almost  fearful  to  mark  the 
wild  gleam  in  the  man's  eye  as  he  spoke  his  fierce  joy  in  this 
retributive  justice. 

Wo  were  truly  fortunate  in  having  letters  to  Mr.  Shaw,  of 
Monkstown,  on  the  beautiful  Bay  of  Cork,  and  received  from 
him  and  his  family  every  possible  kindness,  and  enjoyed  in 
his  charming  house  most  gracious  hospitality.  Mr.  Shaw  has 
on  his  property  the  ruins  of  two  castles  —  the  one  at  Monks- 
town,  an  exceedingly  picturesque  structure,  dating  only  from 
the  time  of  Elizabeth ;  but  the  other,  Belvelly  Castle,  upon 
Cove  Island,  at  least  eiglit  hundred  years  old.  We  spent 
much  of  our  time,  while  with  these  friends,  on  the  water,  row- 
ing from  shore  to  shore,  and  point  to  point,  of  this  noble  bay, 
feasting  our  sight  and  storing  our  memory  with  glorious  pic- 
tures. We  one  day  rowed  to  Cove  Island,  and  dined  in  a  hall 
of  the  old  castle,  Avliich  had  rung  to  the  clang  of  rude  armor 
and  the  wassail  songs  of  Erin's  princes  and  knights,  and  to 
the  wild  war  notes  of  Irish  harpers,  eight  hundred  years  ago. 

I  had  much  pleasure  in  visiting,  with  Mr.  Shaw,  two  or 
three  of  the  cottages  of  his  tenants  ;  for  I  found  them  all 
neat,  orderly,  and  comfortable.  I  have  since  seen  nothing  to 
compare  with  them. 

During  our  stay  at  Cork  we  were  twice  at  the  Exhibition, 
and  were  interested  and  gratified  far  beyond  our  expectation. 
One  can  no  longer  despair  for  Ireland,  surrounded  by  such 
proofs  of  the  taste,  talent,  and  industry  of  her  people.  On 
our  last  visit  we  were  accompanied  by  Sir  Thomas  Deane, 
who  may  count  among  his  honors  that  of  having  been  the 
chief  projector  and  most  able  and  faithful  supporter  of  thia 
uobk  work.     God  speed  him,  and  such   as   he,  in  all  worthy 


82  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

efforts  to  develop  and  encourage  art  and  uplift  honest  indus 

trial  pride  in  Ireland. 

Belfast,  Septejtbek  5. 

On  the  morning  of  August  16  we  left  Cork  for  Killarney, 
by  way  of  Bantry  and  Glengariff.  After  a  short  run  on  the 
rail  we  took  a  stage  coach,  choosing  outside  seats,  like  en- 
thusiastic tourists  as  we  are,  though  the  day  was  dark  and 
showery.  There  was  little  in  the  scenery,  and  less  in  the 
condition  of  the  country  and  people,  to  repay  us  for  our  expo- 
sure to  wind  and  weather,  until  we  reached  Bantry.  I  can  never 
forget  the  forlorn,  unmitigated  wretchedness  of  the  people 
who  thronged  round  us  at  the  little  town  of  Dunmanway. 
Among  the  crowd  appealing  to  us,  in  all  possible  variations  of 
the  whine  mendicious  and  mendacious,  we  saw  not  one  man 
or  woman  in  the  national  costume  and  cover  all  —  the  double- 
caped  greatcoat  and  the  hooded  cloak ;  all  was  squalor  and 
tatters,  soulsickening  and  disgusting.  Here  was  infancy, 
nude  and  needy,  reaching  out  its  dirty  little  hands ;  and 
second  childhood,  bent  and  tottering,  with  palsied  palm  ex- 
tended, eyeing  you  with  all  the  mute  wistfulness  of  a  starved 
spaniel.  There  was  a  full  assortment  of  the  halt,  the  hump- 
backed, and  the  crippled  —  all  degrees  of  sightlessness  and 
unsightliness.  I  turned  away  from  the  miserable  creatures 
with  a  heart  heavy  with  hopeless  sj'^mpathy  and  vain  pity, 
and  with  a  conscience  stricken  for  all  my  own  sins  of  un- 
thankfulness  and  discontent.  And  here  I  may  as  well  pause 
to  remark  briefly  on  the  condition  and  appearance  of  the 
peasants  in  the  south  of  Ireland.  Knowing  that  I  could  not 
fairly  judge  of  this  class  by  the  idle  and  ragged  crowd  who 
gather  round  the  coach  or  car  in  the  towns  and  hamlets,  I 
took  occasion,  during  my  stay  at  Cork,  to  visit  several  of  the 
country  cottages  of  the  working  peasants  in  company  with 
one  of  the  landed  proprietors.  In  but  one  out  of  six  did  I 
find  a  regular  fireplace  and  chimney ;  in  but  one  was  there  a 


A    TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  83 

window  of  glass,  and  that  consisted  of  a  single  pane.  The 
otlicrs  had — -with  the  exc',e})tion  of  the  door,  and  a  hole  in  the 
roof,  from  which  the  smoke,  after  wandering  at  its  own  sweet 
will  through  the  cabin,  found  its  way  out  — -  no  opening  what- 
ever for  light  or  ventilation.  But  I  forget  — >  we  did  remark 
a  sort  of  improvised  window  in  one  other.  In  a  low,  miser- 
able hovel,  belonging  to  a  carman,  we  found  a  horse  occupy- 
ing full  a  thiixi  of  the  scanty  room  ;  and  above  his  manger 
a  small  opening  had  been  made  through  the  mud  wall,  the 
good  man  having  found  that  the  health  of  the  animal  required 
what  himself  and  his  family  lived  without  —  air.  To  the 
mistress  of  this  unique  habitation,  whose  one  apartment  served 
for  kitchen,  sleeping  room,  stable,  and  hall,  I  said,  in  horrified 
amazement,  "  How  is  it  possible  you  can  live  with  that 
horse?"  "  Sure,  miss,  he's  no  throuble,"  she  replied  ;  "and 
it'si  little  room  he  takes,  after  all ;  for  the  childer  can  sleep  on 
the  straw,  under  him,  just,  and  creep  between  his  legs,  and 
he  niver  harming  them  at  all,  the  sinsible  cratur."  It  is  a 
common  thing  to  see  hens  drying  their  feathers  by  the  genial 
peat  glow,  and  pigs  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  the  domestic 
hearth.  In  another  cabin  we  found  two  curious  old  crones, 
living  together  on  apparently  nothing,  who  loaded  us  with 
blessings  in  the  original  tongue,  and  actually  went  on  their 
knees  to  offer  up  thanksgiving  for  a  few  halfpence,  which 
we  gave  as  a  consideration  for  intruding  on  their  retire- 
ment. 

Yet,  though  living  in  low,  smoky,  ill-ventilated  cabins, — 
often  with  mouldering  thatches,  and  always  with  damp  earth 
floors,  with  a  pool  of  stagnant  water  or  a  dunghill  before  the 
door  —  though  themselves  ill  fed  and  but  half  clad,  it  is  a 
singular  fact,  that  the  peasants  of  southern  Ireland  are  ap- 
parently a  healthful  and  hardy  race.  You  occasionally  see 
fine  specimens  of  manly  and  childish  beauty  among  them ; 
but  a  pretty  Irish  peasant  girl  we   found  the   rarest  of  rara 


«4  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

avi.ses.  There  are  some  families  of  Spanish  origin  abou( 
Bantry,  and  of  these  we  encountered  one  or  two  dark-eyed, 
olive-cheeked  beggar  boys,  who  seemed  to  have  leaped  out  of 
one  of  Murillo's  pictures.  The  policemen  every  where  are  a 
particularly  fine-looking  set  of  fellows  ;  indeed,  none  but  well- 
made,  tall,  and  powerful  men  have  any  chance  of  enrolment 
in  this  honorable,  teiTor-inspiring,  omnipresent  corps.  The 
professional  beggars  of  Ireland  seem  a  peculiarly  hopeless  and 
irredeemable  class  —  not  because  of  the  poverty  of  the  country 
alone,  but  from  their  own  inherent  and  inherited  idleness 
and  viciousness.  They  are  persistent,  pertinacious,  sometimes 
impudent,  and  often  quick  witted  and  amusing.  A  friend  of 
ours  was  waylaid  by  a  certain  "  widdy  "  woman,  with  an  un- 
limited amount  of  ragged  responsibilities  at  her  heels.  On 
hearing  her  doleful  story,  our  friend  advised  the  fair  men- 
dicant to  take  refuge  in  the  poorhouse.  "  The  poorhouse  !  " 
she  exclaimed ;  "•  sure  it's  meself  that  keeps  the  poorest  house 
in  all  Cork,  yer  honor."  I  was  amused  by  an  appeal  made 
by  an  elderly  dame  to  one  of  our  fellow-passengers  :  "  Here's 
a  fine  fat  gentleman ;  sure  he'll  give  a  sixpence  to  a  poor 
bony  body  that  hasn't   broken    her  fast  at  all  the  day." 

If  you  wish  to  take  a  meditative  walk  among  the  hills,  the 
chances  are  that  you  will  return  with  a  considerable  ragged 
retinue  ;  but  the  lai-ger  detachments  of  this  ignoble  army  of 
almsseekers  are  stationed  along  the  public  roads.  They 
make  their  startling  sorties  from  the  most  lonely,  wild,  and 
inaccessible  places  ;  like  Roderick  Dhu's  men,  they  leap  up 
from  "  copse  and  heath."  Every  rock  hides  a  waiting  men- 
dicant, and  every  tuft  of  broom  stirs  as  we  approach  with  a 
lurking  tatterdemalion.  They  leap  on  your  way  from  behmd 
walls,  and  drop  down  upon  you  from  overhanging  trees  — • 
small  footpads,  or  rather  paddies,  who  present  palms  instead 
of  pistols,  and  blarney  and  worry  you  alike  out  of  pence  and 
patience. 


A    TOUK    IN    EUROPE.  85 

After  a  day  of  wet  and  weary  travel  through  a  melancholy 
country,  we  enjoyed  to  the  utmost  the  beautiful  approach  to 
Eantry,  under  a  clear  and  sunny  sky,  and  welcomed  with  en- 
thusiasm the  sight  of  its  lovely  and  famous  bay.  But  even 
this  bright  vision  was  soon  eclipsed  by  Glengariff,  where  we 
spent  the  night.  Thus  far  on  my  tour  I  have  seen  nothing 
to  compare  with  the  glorious  beauty  of  that  place.  In  all 
the  solemn  shadows  of  its  wild  loneliness,  the  dark  deeps  and 
frowning  heights  of  its  grandeur,  in  all  the  sweet  lights  of  its 
loveliness,  it  lives,  and  must  ever  live,  in  my  charmed  mem- 
ory ;  but  I  will  not  attempt  to  picture  it  in  words. 

After  dinner,  though  a  light  rain  was  falling,  we  took  a 
row  around  the  bay,  and  remained  on  the  water  until  the 
night  set  in.  I  think  we  shall  none  of  us  soon  forget  that 
row  over  the  smooth  and  silent  bay,  in  the  rain  and  deepen- 
ing twilight,  under  the  shadows  of  mountain  and  rock.  The 
scene  would  have  been  too  wild,  solemn,  and  awfully  lonely, 
but  for  the  peculiar  wit  and  story -telling  talent  of  "Jerry," 
our  guide  and  helmsman.  He  entertained  us  with  some 
wonderful  legends  of  a  certain  Father  Shannon,  a  priest,  and 
a  famous  character  in  this  region  about  half  a  century  ago. 
One  anecdote  illustrative  of  the  holy  man's  quickwittedness 
impressed  me  as  an  instance  of  "  cuteness  "  passing  the  cute, 
ness  of  Yankees.  "  The  good  father,"  says  Jerry,  "  was  one 
day  fishing,  in  his  boat,  on  the  bay,  when  he  heard  a  swarm 
of  bees  buzzing  about  him.  Then  he  begins  to  rattle  with  a 
knife,  or  spoon,  in  an  iron  kettle  he  had  with  him  in  the  boat, 
till  he  feels  that  all  the  bees  have  settled  on  his  shoulders. 
Then  he  slyly  reaches  back,  and  takes  hold  of  the  tail  of  his 
shirt,  (begging  your  pardon,  ladies  !)  and  he  suddenly  turns  it 
over  his  h  ad,  bees  and  all,  and  puts  it  into  the  kettle,  which 
he  covers  over  in  a  second  just ;  and  so  he  takes  the  whole 
swarm  to  Lord  Bantry,  and  sells  them  for  three  pounds,  and 
get?  his  shirt  back,  too,  yer  honor." 
8 


S6  IIAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

I  am  tempted  to  relate  several  of  Jerry's  stories,  so  pe- 
culiarly and  richly  Irish  were  they  —  odd,  wild,  extravagant, 
and  ludicrous,  yet  now  and  then  sparkling  with  a  fine  fancy, 
ar  a  rare  poetic  thought,  and  in  their  drollery  quaint  and  quiet, 
never  coarse  or  common.  But  I  should  get  on  slowly  indeed 
with  the  story  of  my  tour  if  I  paused  to  do  justice,  either  by 
description  or  quotation,  to  the  originality  of  character,  the 
spirit  and  humor,  the  warmth  and  generousness  of  feeling  of 
many  of  the  Irish  peasantry  with  whom  I  came  in  contact. 

The  mountain  road  from  GlengarifF  to  Killarney  is  a 
splendid  specimen  of  engineering,  and  leads  through  scenery 
wild  and  beautiful  in  the  extreme.  On  the  sunny  morning  of 
our  leaving  Glengariff,  landscape  and  air  were  fresh  and  de- 
licious after  the  night's  abundant  rain,  and  with  thrills  and 
palpitations  of  inexpressible  joy  my  heart  responded  to  the 
gladness  of  nature.  I  shall  never  forget  the  childish  ecstasy 
of  delight  with  which  I  gazed  around  me,  and  drank  in  the 
fragrant  air  of  the  morning. 

The  three  lakes  of  Killarney  descended  upon  by  this  road 
are  likely  to  disappoint  the  tourist,  especially  if  he  be  an 
American,  more  especially  if  he  be  a  reader  of,  and  a  devout 
believer  in,  Mrs.  Hall's  beautiful  and  most  poetical  book,  "A 
Week  in  Killarney."  In  truth,  such  fairy  sheets  of  water  seem 
little  to  deserve  the  name  of  lakes  at  first,  but  they  grow  on 
your  respect  rapidly  as  you  approach ;  their  beauty  is,  neai 
or  afar,  quite  exquisite  and  undeniable,  and  the  mountains 
which  surround  them  are  really  very  respectable  elevations. 
Our  first  visit  was  to  the  Tore  Waterfall,  by  far  the  most 
beautiful  cascade  I  have  seen  since  coming  abroad.  The  fall 
is  between  sixty  and  seventy  feet ;  the  glen  into  which  the 
water  comes  leaping,  and  foaming,  and  fiashing  is  wild  and 
rocky,  and  overhung  with  richest  foliage. 

We  passed  Lord  Kenmare's  noble  demesne,  and  drove 
fhrough  the  village  of    Killarney  to  our  hotel,  the  Victoria^ 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  87 

which  is  charmingly  situated  on  the  shore  of  the  lower  and 
larger  lake.  We  found  the  house  crowded  with  visitors  of  all 
characters  and  degrees  —  the  elegant  and  the  vulgar,  the 
coarse  and  the  refined,  with  the  usual  number  of  undefinable 
and  unclassable  betweenities.  While  taking  tea  in  the  coffee 
room,  we  were  struck  by  the  mien  and  manner  of  a  traveller 
near  us.  He  was  evidently  a  person  oppressed  with  a  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  consequence,  and  bent  on  having  the 
world  do  its  part  towards  bearing  his  burden.  He  gave  out 
his  orders  to  the  wondering  waiter  with  a  military  sternness 
and  a  startling  rapidity ;  but,  strange  enough,  ended  each  sen- 
tence with  a  sort  of  draw^l.  He  was  clad  in  a  monotonous  suit 
of  checked  tweed,  with  an  extravagant  cravat — a  John  Bull, 
without  doubt,  yet  black  browed  and  full  bearded  —  a  curious 
cross  between  a  Cockney  and  a  Cossack.  After  tea,  this  unique 
individual  swaggered  up  to  one  of  our  party,  a  very  gentle- 
manly-looking person,  and  accosted  him  as  he  was  passing 
down  the  hall  with  a  "  Pray,  are  you  one  of  the  waiters  of 
this  hotel  ?  "     "  No ;  are  you  ?  "  coolly  responded  our  friend. 

In  the  morning  w^e  were  so  fortunate  as  to  be  able  to  en- 
gage for  our  guide,  during  our  stay,  the  Stephen  Spillane  so 
honorably  mentioned  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hall.  We  found  him 
a  young  man  of  good  education,  much  general  intelligenct^, 
gentleness,  and  even  refinement  of  manner. 

Our  first  expedition  was  to  the  Gap  of  Dunloe,  a  wild  and 
gloomy  mountain  pass,  especially  interesting  to  the  reader  of 
Gerald  Griffin's  fine  novel  of  The  Collegians,  as  the  scene  of 
poor  Eily  Connor's  happy  honeymoon  and  tragic  taking  of!l 
Our  guide  furnished  myself  and  a  pleasant  English  friend 
with  ponies  —  the  remainder  of  the  party  took  a  car. 

Though  tolerably  well  mounted,  and  able  to  abruptly  cut 
the  company  of  the  old,  crippled,  and  blind  of  the  begging 
fraternity,  we  found  that  we  had  small  adv  antage  over  the  boys. 
The  fleet-footed  little  rascals  kept  up  with  us  for  miles  —  one 


88  HAl'S    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

juvenile  Celt,  literally  sans  culotte,  but  in  a  shirt  of  elder- 
brotherly  dimensions,  giving  us  a  sort  of  Tarn  O'Shanter 
chase.  A  pretty,  dark-eyed  boy,  running  by  my  side,  held  up 
a  bunch  of  purple  heather  and  wild  honeysuckle,  saying,  with 
an  insinuating  smile,  "  Plase,  my  lady,  buy  these  ilegant  bright 
flowers,  so  like  yer  honor's  self,  this  beautiful  summer  morn- 
ing."    What  woman  could  resist  such  an  appeal  ? 

At  the  entrance  of  the  Gap  we  were  met  by  a  detachment 
of  volunteer  guides,  and  a  company  of  "  mountain  dew  "  girls 
—  maidens  -with  cans  of  goats'  milk  and  flasks  of  "  potheen," 
with  which  they  are  happy  to  treat  the  traveller,  for  a  consid- 
eration. After  listening  to  some  grand  echoes,  called  forth  by 
ihe  rich  bugle  notes  of  our  guide,  we  proceeded  through  llie 
pass.  This,  by  itself,  did  not  equal  our  expectation  ;  its  finest 
feature  is  the  "Purple  Mountain,"  which  in  the  glorious  sun- 
light of  that  morning  was  beautiful  beyond  conception. 

From  Lord  Brandon's  demesne  we  embarked  upon  the 
upper  lake,  rowed  among  its  fairy  islands,  and  ran  down  "  the 
long  range"  to  the  middle  lake  —  pausing  for  a  little  gossip 
with  the  echoes  of  "  Eagle  Nest,"  and  shooting  "  Old  Wier 
Bridge  "  on  our  way.  The  bay  and  mountain  of  Glena  are 
the  gems  of  Killarney.  Even  now,  looking  back  upon  the 
scene  through  the  sobered  light  of  recollection,  it  is  all  en- 
chantment —  the  shore  gorgeous  with  magnificent  foliage,  the 
waters  flashing  with  silver  gleams,  flie  sky  golden  with  sunset 
light ;  and  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  believe  that  there  is  under 
the  broad  heaven  a  lovelier  spot.  Even  the  echoes  from  tliis 
beautiful  green  mountain  seemed  clearer,  yet  softer  and  more 
melodious,  than  any  we  had  heard  before. 

We  took  dinner  on  shore,  in  a  delicious  little  nook,  shad- 
owed by  arbutus  trees,  dining  off  a  large  rock,  some  seated 
a  la  Turc,  some  reclining  in  the  ancient  Oriental  style.  O, 
we  had  merry  times!  And  what  with  toasts  and  songs,  and 
legends,  and  joyous  laughter  ringing  out,  peal  on  peal,  over 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  89 

the  still  water,  the  wonder  is  we  failed  to  rouse  the  great 
O'Donaghue,  who,  according  to  popular  tradition,  dwells  in  a 
princely  palace  under  the  lake,  and  only  comes  to  the  surface 
to  take  an  airing  on  horseback  every  May  morning.  Our 
row  homeward,  throuo;h  the  soft  lins-erins  sunset  lijrht,  with 
the  plash  and  murmur  of  the  blue  waves,  rising  with  the 
rising  wind,  heard  in  the  intervals  between  the  sweet  songs  of 
our  guide,  was  a  fitting  close  to  a  day  of  shadowless  pleasure. 

In  the  coffee  room  we  encountered  our  black-bearded  tour- 
ist, quite  "  knocked  up,"  he  averred,  by  the  duties  of  the  day. 
He  had  actually  "done"  the  ascent  of  old  Carran  Tual, 
twice  —  once  on  his  own  account,  and  once  (most  amiable  of 
his  sex  !)  for  a  friend. 

That  evening  we  listened  to  the  fine  music  of  Gandsey,  the 
i^elebrated  Irish  piper,  a  truly  venerable  man,  very  old,  and 
quite  blind,  who  plays  his  '  native  melodies  with  touching 
ex|  session,  waking  the  old  sorrows  of  Ireland  and  making 
them  wail  again,  and  giving  proud  voice  to  her  ancient  glories, 
till  you  believe  that  her  lost  nationality  "is  not  dead,  but 
sleepeth,"  and  must  yet  rise  to  free  and  powerful  life. 

On  the  following  morning,  with  our  pleasant  friend  Sir 
Thomas  Deane,  we  visited  Muckross  Abbey,  a  fine,  pic- 
turesque old  ruin.  The  cloisters,  the  refectory,  and  the 
chapel  are  in  comparatively  good  preservation.  In  the  latter 
lie  the  bones  of  the  great  MacCarthy  Mor,  and,  it  is  thought, 
of  the  O'Donaghues,  with  the  exception,  of  course,  of  him  who 
preferred  the  lake  to  holy  ground,  waved  his  privilege  of 
Christian  burial,  and  his  chance  of  canonization,  it  may  be,  for 
his  aguish  palace,  aquatic  court,  and  questionable  submarine 
existence.  After  taking  leave  of  the  solemn  old  abbey,  we 
commenced  the  ascent  of  Mangerton,  a  mountain  two  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  fifty-four  feet  in  height  —  a  merry  party 
of  six,  all  pony-mounted.  Here  we  were  joined  by  a  very 
8* 


90  HArS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

large  company  of  volunteer  guides,  and  attacked,  front,  flank, 
and  rear,  by  an  Amazonian  troop  of  "  mountain  dew  "  girls. 
Barren  and  rugged  as  was  that  drear  ascent,  we  found  it  a 
land  flowing  with  goats'  milk  and  whiskey;  and  at  every 
pause  which  we  made  to  breathe  our  ponies,  or  to  treat  our- 
selves to  a  fine  view,  twenty  cups  were  held  to  our  lips, 
twenty  voices  prayed  us  to  drink,  for  present  refreshment  and 
future  good  fortune  —  that  "the  Lord  "  might  "carry  us  safe" 
up  that  perilous  steep,  and  grant  to  us  and  our  families,  to 
the  remotest  generation,  health,  wealth,  honor,  and  "  pace." 
Near  the  summit  of  the  mountain  we  came  upon  a  deep,  dark, 
little  lake  —  one  of  the  devil's  punch  bowls;  for  his  satanic 
majesty,  who  seems  jovially  inclined,  has  several  in  Ireland. 
The  prospect  from  the  summit  of  JNIangerton  is  very  exten- 
sive, and  truly  magnificent.  AVe  rested  and  revelled  in  it,  for 
a  bright  half  hour,  on  the  breezy  mountain  top.  Here  we 
again  encountered  the  dark-bearded  tourist.  Disdaining  all 
pony  aid,  he  had  done  Mangerton,  as  he  did  Carran  Tual,  on 
foot.  But  the  trimness  of  his  toilet,  and  the  morning  freshness 
of  his  mien,  had  suffered  somewhat*  from  the  heat  and  toil  of 
the  day.  His  raven  whiskers  were  whitened  with  dust,  his 
hat  had  a  backward  inclination,  his  pantaloons  were  tucked 
into  his  boots,  his  coat  of  tweed  was  borne  by  the  guide,  his 
shoulders  were  free  from  the  bondage  of  braces,  which  were 
twined  carelessly  about  his  waist,  his  cravat  %vas  untied,  and 
he  was  at  loose  ends  generally.  Plere  he  was  first  gracious 
enough  to  make  some  conversation  with  me :  — 

"  Madam,  may  I  ask  if  you  are  an  American  ?  *' 

"  I  have  that  honor,  sir." 

«Aw  —  I  the  ught  so;  something  in  the  manner  a  little 
peculiar  —  aw.     Have  you  spent  much  time  in  London?" 

"  About  two  months." 

"  Aw  —  a  great  place  is  London  —  quite  a  world,  I  may 


4    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  91 

Bay.  You  would  like  the  literary  society  of  London,  exces- 
sively, if  you  could  once  get  the  entree  ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  do 
that,  very  difficult  —  aw." 

"  Indeed  !     I  have  not  found  it  so." 

After  a  little  more  talk  of  this  sort,  our  friend  called  to  his 
guide,  and  was  off.  In  a  few  minutes  we  saw  him  on  an 
opposite  peak,  and  very  soon  dashing  down  the  mountain,  to- 
wards Killarney.  He  seemed  to  give  no  pause  for  resting  or 
"  prospecting."  "  March  !  march  !  "  seemed  to  be  his  word, 
as  he  were  the  Wandering  Jew  on  an  Irish  tour. 

On  our  descent,  my  English  friend  abandoned  his  hard- 
gaited  pony  and  the  beaten  track,  and  plunged  down  the 
mountain  side  in  a  more  direct  course,  on  foot.  Piqued  by 
this  ungallant  desertion,  1  made  a  rash  vow  to  follow  in  the 
very  footsteps  of  my  faithless  cavalier.  Such  a  chase  as  he 
led  me,  through  boggy  hollows,  down  rocky  ledges,  over  small 
chasms  and  natural  ditches,  while  the  above-mentioned  volun- 
teer guides  and  mountain  dew  damsels  followed  close  upon 
our  track,  uttering  exclamations  of  delight  and  astonishment, 
sometimes  more  emphatic  than  pious  —  perhaps  recognizing 
in  this  reckless  love  of  fun  and  adventure  a  spirit  kindred  to 
their  own. 

After  a  charming  drive  through  Lord  Kenmare's  demesne, 
we  dined  in  a  picturesque  cottage,  on  the  lake  shore,  from 
which  place  we  rowed  to  "  sweet  Innisfallen,"  and  wandered 
at  twilight  among  its  deep,  shadowy  groves,  and  the  solemn 
ruins  of  what,  ages  and  ages  ago,  was  the  noble  temple  of 
learning  and  letters.  From  Linisfallen  we  went  to  Rosa 
Castle,  a  grand  old  ruin,  once  the  stronghold  of  the  O'Don- 
aghue,  besieged  and  destroyed  by  Cromwell,  the  great  spoliator 
of  Ireland.  Here  the  fine-frenzied  tourist  turned  up  for  the 
last  time  —  he  rushed  past  us  as  we  were  entering,  and  was 
quickly  lost  in  the  ruins,  but  appeared  afterwards  at  variou? 
points  and  parapets.     He  did  the  old  castle,  as  he  had  done  the 


92  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS     OF 

otiier  sights,  in  an  incredibly  short  time  —  dashed  down  to  his 
boat,  flung  himself  in,  ordered  the  men  to  push  off —  "  away 
flew  the  liglit  bark,"  far  into  the  deepening  twihght,  and  the 
black-whiskered  tourist  passed  from  our  siglit  forever.  As 
for  us,  we  lingered  till  long  after  nightfall  in  the  beautiful 
grounds  of  Ross  Island,  or  on  the  lake  before  the  castle,  hold- 
ing pleasant  converse  with  the  famous  "  Paddy  Blake,"  the 
prince  of  echoes.  "  Paddy  ! "  cried  our  helmsman,  with  a 
stentorian  voice,  "  do  ye  know  who's  been  paying  a  visit  to 
yer  ould  castle  ?  Listen,  then,  till  I  tell  ye :  the  rose,  the 
thistle,  the  shamrock,  and  the  wild  flying  aigle !  "  Paddy 
seemed  duly  to  appreciate  the  honor,  for  he  repeated  the 
words  of  the  boatman  as  though  in  joyous  surprise.  It  was 
odd  to  hear  those  dark,  grand,  ivy-mantled  palace  halls  ring- 
ing with  blithe  bugle  notes  and  jolly  laughter  —  talking  in 
such  a  free  and  easy  w^ay  —  vocal  with  so  rich  a  brogue. 

That  last  night  we  enjoyed  a  merry  tea-drinking  together, 
in  a  private  parlor,  and  early  in  the  morning  set  forth,  by 
stage  coach,  for  Limerick.  As  to  the  Victoria  Hotel,  the 
least  said  by  me  the  better  for  its  reputation.  I  constrain  my- 
self to  silence  in  regard  to  the  broken  bell  wires  and  other 
dilapidations  in  my  apartments,  trusting  in  the  truth  of  the 
proverb,  "  The  least  said,  the  soonest  mended."  In  our  out- 
door life  at  Killarney,  our  only  serious  annoyances  were 
beggers  and  midges.  Between  the  two,  you  bleed  at  every 
pore. 

With  the  heavy  mist  of  a  dull,  wet  morning,  Nature  let 
down  the  drop  curtain  on  the  scene  of  all  our  enjoyment  at 
Killarney.  I  think  we  all  felt  and  looked  a  little  blue  as  we 
took  our  places  on  the  outside  seats  of  the  stage  coach,  and 
Bet  forth  for  Tarbert,  on  the  Shannon.  Nor  were  the  views 
and  objects  on  our  way  such  as  were  calculated  to  raise  our 
spirits  or  kindle  our  enthusiasm.  The  country  was  a  weary, 
boggy  waste,  with  few-and-far-between  patches  of  cultivation 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  VC 

and  homes  of  comfort.  The  cabins  of  the  peasants  were  the 
most  miserable  of  imaginable  and  inhabitable  places  —  the 
peasants  themselves  were  yet  one  depth  of  wretchedness  be- 
low any  we  had  seen  before.  Now  and  then  we  passed  an 
ivy-wreathed  castle  tower,  which  had  once  frowned  in  em- 
battled strength  on  hosts  of  assaulting  foes  ;  or  the  unroofed 
walls  and  mouldering  cloisters  of  an  ancient  abbey,  with  the 
black  rooks  circling  amid  the  arches  through  which  the  white 
incense  of  worship  once  stole,  and  screaming  harshly  above 
the  aisles  down  which  once  rolled  the  pious  priestly  chant  in 
fuU-voluraed  melody.  Every  where  we  saw  repeated  the 
same  sad  picture  —  old  Ireland  in  ruins,  young  Ireland  in 
rags. 

Near  Tarbert  our  driver  pointed  out  to  us  what  had  been  a 
good  estate ;  on  a  rising  ground  stood  a  large,  imposing  man- 
sion, but  the  plantations  surrounding  it  had  an  appearance  of 
utter  desolation  and  abandonment.  This  was  the  proj^erty  of 
a  jovial  Irish  squire,  who  for  many  years  kept  open  house, 
and  lived  in  a  rioting,  rollicking  way,  entertaining  his  sporting 
friends  with  horses,  and  hounds,  and  oceans  of  good  whiskey 
punch. 

But  during  the  late  general  distress  there  was  a  scattering 
among  the  jolly  guests,  and  the  host  himself,  hunted  by  bai- 
liffs, stripped  of  out-door  luxuries  and  in-door  comforts  —  car- 
riages, horses,  hounds,  plate,  furniture,  library,  wines,  whiskey, 
and  all  —  was  obliged  to  abandon  his  mansion  for  a  little 
thatched  cottage,  and  actually  to  allow  his  anv*estral  hall  to  be 
converted  into  a  workhouse.  There  is  something  very  like  re- 
tributive justice  in  the  fact  that,  in  the  walls  which  once  rung 
and  rocked  to  the  revelries  of  the  improvident  master,  the 
poor  tenants,  whom  his  heartless  extravagance  tended  to  re- 
duce to  beggary,  find  in  sickness  and  old  age  a  quiet  and  com- 
fortable home. 

Tiie  passage  up  the  Shannon  from  Tarbert  to  Limerick  was 


94  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

an  absolute  delight  —  the  river,  a  broad,  clear,  shining  flood, 
sweeping  between  softly  undulating,  emerald  shores,  here  and 
there  made  more  beautiful  by  noble  wooded  estates  and  fine 
lordly  towers.  We  drew  near  to  Limerick  through  a  long 
and  gorgeous  sunset,  which  overspread  the  heavens,  wrapped 
the  shore,  and  floated  on  the  water,  in  a  fine  glory  of  golden 
light.  It  was  a  scene  for  the  sense  of  beauty  to  revel  in,  not 
alone  for  the  hour,  but  which  vanished  from  the  outward 
vision  but  to  become  one  of  the  soul's  fair,  unfading  pictures 
—  an  illuminated  memory. 

We  were  greatly  pleased  with  Limerick,  which  we  found  a 
well-built,  pleasant,  and  apparently  prosperous  town. 

In  the  morning  we  took  a  car  and  drove  to  the  rapids,  above 
the  city  some  five  or  six  miles.  These  are  exceedingly  beau- 
tiful—  grand,  indeed,  and  very  nearly  equal  to  those  of 
Niagara.  We  went  down  several  of  the  least  dano^erous  in 
a  long,  narrow  skiff,  much  like  an  Indian  canoe,  and  I  shall 
not  soon  forget  the  wild,  almost  mad  excitement,  the  peculiar, 
peril-zested  pleasure  of  the  swift  descent,  when  our  little  fairy 
bark  seemed  to  leap  fearlessly  from  ledge  to  ledge,  yet  quickly 
and  cunningly  to  avoid  all  fatal  enticing  currents,  sharp  rocks 
lying  in  wait  under  cover  of  white  foam,  and  angry  waters 
whirling  in  delirious  eddies. 

On  our  return  to  the  city  we  visited  the  old  cathedral,  of 
whose  melodious  bells  a  beautiful  and  well-known  legend  is 
told.  After  an  outside  survey  of  the  old  castle,  which  is  in  a 
fine  state  of  preservation,  considering  its  great  age,  we  visited 
one  of  the  largest  lace  manufactories,  in  which  I  was  pleased 
to  see  many  poor  girls  employed,  but  pained  to  find  them 
crowded  into  two  small  and  ill-ventilated  rooms.  While 
breathing  the  close  air  of  those  workshops,  and  looking  on  the 
pale,  worn  faces  of  some  of  the  toiling  young  creatures  around 
me,  the  delicate  beauty  of  the  richest  la  le  they  wrought  had 
gmall  charm  for  even  my  feminine  fancy. 


A   TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  95 

In  one  of  our  drives  in  Limerick  we  passed  through  a  sort 
of  rag  fair,  which  showed  us  where  the  beggars  obtained  that 
marvellous  variety  of  color  and  texture  so  remarkable  in  their 
costume.  Here  we  saw  some  strange  specimens  of  the  last 
dire  extremity  of  tattered  civilization  — -  only  to  be  distin- 
guished from  savage  scantness  of  apparel  and  imbruted  stu- 
pidity by  greater  squalor  and  a  sullen  consciousness,  which 
has  not  the  grace  of  shame.  We  saw  one  lad  whose  whole 
attire  did  not  boast  of  one  ordinary  garment,  but  who  was 
literally  hung  with  rags,  by  means  of  a  cord  wound  about  his 
body,  sustaining  fragments  of  every  conceivable  shape  and 
color  —  so  his  entire  costume  was  a  curious  piece  of  festoon- 
ing. Ah,  there  is  little  need  for  the  tourist  to  pass  through 
this  part  of  Ireland,  "  spying  out  the  nakedness  of  the  land  ;  " 
it  is  thrust  upon  him  at  every  turn.  Yet  you  must  not  believe 
tliat  all  this  outward  wretchedness  is  real,  necessary,  and  help- 
less. By  far  the  larger  number  of  those  who  apply  to  the  travel- 
ler for  charity  are  vagabondish  in  their  instincts  and  indolent 
in  their  habits,  and  prefer  to  beg  rather  than  to  labor,  either 
in  or  out  of  the  workhouse.  The  professional  beggar  dresses, 
for  his  part,  with  as  much  care  and  skill  as  any  other  actor ; 
and  the  whine,  the  limp,  the  melancholy  tale,  blindness,  palsy, 
widow's  tears,  and  orphan's  wails  are  often  the  results  of 
laborious  practice  and  splendid  triumphs  of  art.  You  must 
bear  this  in  mind,  and  "  set  your  face  as  a  flint,"  if  you  would 
enjoy  Ireland.  I  have  heard  here  an  anecdote  of  a  wealthy 
American  gentleman,  of  large-hearted  and  tender-hearted 
benevolence,  who,  after  making  a  tour  through  some  of  the 
poorer  parts  of  the  island,  and  scattering  pennies  among 
crowds  of  ragged  urchins  wherever  he  went,  dropping  a  tear 
and  a  sixpence  into  every  blind  beggar's  extended  hat,  or  to 
every  "  poor  widdy's "  hand,  returned  to  his  hotel,  in  Dub- 
lin, a  saddened  man,  and  shut  himself  in  his  room  to  muse  on 
the  sorrows  and  sufferings  of  the  innumerable  host  of  per- 


96  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS    OF 

egrinating  patpers,  infantile,  "maternal,  juvenile,  and  ancient, 
which  had  thronged  his  way  through  many  days.  Suddenly 
he  heard,  somewhere  without  his  door,  a  sweet  voice,  and  the 
plaintive  notes  of  a  harp.  "  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  the  good  man, 
"  some  poor  creature,  having  heard  of  my  benevolence,  lias 
followed  me  here,  and  is  appealing  to  my  sympathies  through 
one  of  the  mournful  olden  melodies  of  her  native  land.  What 
a  meUing,  heart-breaking  voice  !  Heavens  !  what  a  touching 
strain  wa*  that !  I  can  endure  it  no  longer;"  and,  with  tear- 
ful agitation,  he  rings  violently. 

"Waiter,  I  can't  stand  this  —  give  that  woman  half  a  crown 
for  me,  and  send  her  away." 

The  waiter  stood  aghast,  for  the  harpist  and  singer  was  a 
noble  lady  in  the  next  room. 

But  I  must  not  loiter  by  the  way  in  this  manner.  From 
Limerick  to  DubHn  by  rail.  At  the  latter  place  I  was  taken 
quite  seriously  ill.  Fortunately,  perhaps  I  should  say  prov- 
identially, I  had  brought  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Sir  Philip 
Crampton,  the  distinguished  surgeon  general  of  Ireland,  and 
the  father  of  the  present  British  minister  at  Washington,  who 
in  this  hour  of  need  gave  me  the  benefit  of  his  world-renowned 
skill,  taking  from  the  good  office  all  air  professional,  and  giving 
to  it  the  grace  of  a  kind,  friendly  proffer,  and  the  charm  of  a 
gentle,  high-bred  courtesy,  as  indescribable  as  it  is  inimitable. 
Thus  circumstanced,  my  sick  bed  and  I  soon  parted  company. 
What  I  saw  at  Dublin  after  I  got  about,  and  during  a  brief 
subsequent  visit,  I  will  strive  to  recall  and  relate  in  few  words. 

Our  first  visit  was  to  Jhe  Mount  Joy  Model  Prison  —  con- 
structed and  conducted  very  much  on  the  plan  of  the  Phila- 
delphia Penitentiary.  We  were  most  favorably  impressed  by 
the  order  and  neatness  evident  throughout  the  building,  and 
by  the  intelligence  and  humane  feeling  shown  by  the  officers 
with  whom  we  conversed.  From  the  prison  we  went  to  the 
workhcuse,  in  the  admirable  management  and  orderly  regula- 


A    TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  97 

tion  of  which  we  were  greatly  interested.  It  is  an  immense 
establishment,  yet  every  where  a  system  of  cleanliness  and 
thorough  ventilation  seems  to  prevail.  The  poor  inmates  are 
well  fed  and  comfortably  clothed ;  their  wants,  physical,  men- 
tal, and  spiritual,  are  consulted,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  satis 
*ied.  On  the  wliole,  I  was  gratified  and  cheered  by  tlie  visit. 
In  the  Lunatic  Asylum,  a  truly  noble  institution,  I  saw 
greater  varieties  of  insanity  than  I  had  ever  remarked  in  any 
similar  institution  in  my  own  country.  Some  were  melan- 
choly in  the  extreme,  some  terrible,  some  grotesque,  some 
merry  and  mischievous,  and  some,  by  far  the  saddest  of  all, 
dull,  imbecile,  and  idiotic.  It  is  strange,  perhaps,  but  I  never 
felt  a  more  deep  and  solemn  conviction  of  the  immortality  of 
the  soul  than  when  contemplating  those  various  forms  of  in* 
sanity.  To  me  the  great  light  shone  with  an  intenser  glow,  a 
more  sacred  and  indestructible  life,  thus  glaring  from  the  wild 
orbs  of  frenzy,  or  faintly  and  fitfully  gleaming  from  the  heavy 
misted  eyes  of  idiocy  —  like  torchlight  in  a  dungeon,  or  a  star 
seen  through  drifting  clouds,  all  the  more  vividly  and  star- 
tlingly  real.  I  there  felt  that  to  despair  of  one  of  those  poor 
creatures,  capable  but  of  one  thrill  of  kindly  sympathy,  of 
love,  or  hope,  or  remorse  —  jf  smiling  on  a  child,  or  at  the 
sight  of  flowers,  or  of  greeting  gratefully  the  pitying  face  of 
the  stranger — were  sin  almost  beyond  forgiveness.  I  felt, 
that  to  say  of  the  mind  wandering  for  years  in  the  dark  waste 
of  hopeless  melancholy,  and  of  the  soul  islanded  away  from  all 
human  companionship  in  the  stagnant  sea  of  unconscious  idi- 
ocy, moaning  up  to  God  its  inarticulate  anguish,  —  to  say  of 
these,  "they  shall  utterly  perish,"  were  blasphemy.  It  is 
strange  that  we  do  not  learn  more  meekly  from  Nature,  who 
goes  on  ever  reproducing  her  works  in  beautified  and  glorified 
forms.  The  rough,  dull  seed  arisii^  to  a  glorious  resurrec- 
tion in  the  gorgeous  flower,  holding  m  her  sweet  chalice  the 
purest  dews  of  the  skies,  and  the  butterfly,  freed  from  his 
9 


98  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

unsightly  chrysalis,  fluttering  up  at  our  feet,  bearing  the  glory 
of  heaven  on  his  wings,  should  rebuke  the  unbeliever.  ShaU 
such  as  these  live  again  and  again,  and  that  fullest  emanation 
of  the  Divine  —  the  soul  of  man  —  be  flung  aside,  as  of  no 
worth  in  God's  economy,  after  one  brief  trial  of  existence  ? 

We  visited  the  grave  of  O'Connell,  in  the  beautiful  ceme- 
tery of  Glasneven,  where  Curran  is  also  buried.  The  coffin 
of  the  great  "  agitator,"  covered  with  crimson  velvet,  gor- 
geously wrought  in  gold,  is  exposed  in  the  vault  of  a  tempo- 
rary tomb.  So  we  stood  very  near  the  dust  of  him  whose 
overmastering  eloquence  had  once  stirred  and  swayed  the 
minds  of  his  countrymen,  as  a  strong  tempest  rouses  the  sea 
and  drives  the  wild  waves  before  it.  He  did  much  for  Ire- 
land, and  she  will  keep  his  memory   green. 

We  visited  the  Royal  Irish  Academy,  where  we  saw  many 
curious  antiquities  ;  the  exhibition  of  painting  and  sculpture, 
where  we  saw  a  few  good  pictures  ;  and  the  beautiful  Bank 
of  Ireland,  formerly  the  House  of  Lords  and  Commons. 

Hearing  that  the  famous  Donnybrook  Fair  was  under  full 
headway,  a  few  miles  from  the  city,  we  drove  out  one  pleasant 
afternoon,  hoping  to  see  Irish  character  in  some  new  varieties. 
But,  on  reaching  the  ground,  we  soon  despaired  of  seeing 
much  in  this  way,  remarking  every  where  the  presence  of 
those  patent  suppressors  of  popular  spirit  and  jollity,  individ- 
ual originality  and  fun  —  soldiers  and  policemen.  It  was  a 
novel,  a  bustling,  and  crowded,  but  by  no  means  an  animating 
scene.  Tiiere  was  every  thing  to  be  sold,  and  nothing  seemed 
to  be  selling.  There  was  plenty  of  eating  and  drinking,  and 
nobody  seemed  the  heartier  or  happier.  There  was  every 
where  evident  an  awkward  eflbrt  at  enjoyment  and  amuse- 
ment, un-Irish  and  lamentable  in  the  extreme.  You  heard 
little  laughter  or  singing,  and  both  the  fiddling  and  dancing 
were  mechanical  and  spiritless.  There  w^ere  half  a  dozen 
heatres,  and  every   variety  of   "show;"    and  for   an   hour 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  9t> 

before  the  performance  commenced,  managers,  actors,  clowns, 
and  "P^thiopian  minstrels"  paraded  in  fi'ont  of  their  booths, 
sliouting  and  bidding  for  customers  with  furious  ringing  of 
bells  and  mad  beating  of  drums.  "  Ladies  and  gintlemin, 
walk  in  and  see  the  Roosian  Lamberts  the  fattest  man  in  the 
civilized  world."  "  Ladies  and  gintlemin,  let  me  warn  you 
agin  a  chate,  in  a  frindly  way,  just  —  sure  it's  no  Roosian  at 
all,  but  a  poor  divil  from  Skibbereen,  fatted  on  turnips.  Walk 
in  here,  and  see  an  ilegant  collection  of  monkeys,  and  a  beau- 
tiful famale  kangaroo,  all  for  a  penny."  ''  Ladies  and  gentle- 
men, come  and  patronize  the  h'gitimate  drama,  and  witness 
the  thrilling  and  bloody  tragedy  of  Jack  Sheppard  at  tup- 
pence an  'ead !  " 

As  a  matter  of  couioe,  there  was  on  the  ground  a  large 
representation  of  beggars.  I  was  struck  by  one  poor  old 
"cratur's"  peculiar  and  touching  blessing:  "May  the  Lord 
bless  yer  honor,  and  yer  honor's  husband,  prisint  or  to  be,  and 
grant  you  both  health  and  pace,  and  many  happy  Donny- 
brooks!" 

As  we  were  returning  to  our  car,  through  a  little  crowded 
lane,  I  remarked  to  my  friends,  "It  is  quite  true  what  we  were 
told  in  Dublin  —  the  glory  of  Donnybrook  has  departed  since 
the  advent  of  Father  Mathew  with  his  dispensation  of  teeto- 
talism,  and  the  more  perfect  and  powerful  organization  of 
police,  both  throwing  cold  water  on  its  ancient  spirit  of  tight 
and  frolic.  One  now  hears  no  singing  of  wild  ballads,  and 
sees  no  swinging  of  shillalahs  ;  there  is  an  unnatural  pix)priety, 
a  dreary  orderliness,  a  flat  sobriety,  prevailing  here."  Just 
then  I  was  somewhat  rudely  pressed  on  by  a  sturdy  young 
woman,  who  seemed,  with  elbows  and  knuckles,  to  be  making 
a  rough  medical  examination  of  my  spinal  vertebrae,  testing 
the  elastic  properties  of  my  ribs,  and  the  temper  of  my 
shoulder  blades.  Shrinking  from  this  severe  infliction,  I  com- 
plained to  the  gentleman  on  whose  arm  I  leaned  of  the  too 


100  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS. 

pressing  attentions  of  the  person  behind  me ;  whereupon  the 
damsel  exclaimed,  "  I'm  not  behind  you  at  all !  "  following  this 
astounding  declaration  with  certain  spirited  expressions,  and 
finally  indulged  herself  in  some  remarks  which  I  could  but 
consider  in*elevant,  consisting  of  comparisons  between  ray 
personal  appearance  and  her  own,  decidedly  unfavorable  to 
Hie  former.  This  was  the  first  inhospitable  treatment  I  had 
received  in  Ireland.  To  have  my  slight  feminine  attractions, 
my  humble  claims  to  good  looks,  not  alone  questioned,  but 
flatly  denied,  at  that  joyous  ancient  gathering-place,  that  high 
festival  of  the  kindly  Irish  peasantry  —  Donny brook  Fair  — 
by  a  Donnybrook  fair,  was  an  unexjjected  discourtesy. 

The  society  which  we  were  so  fortunate  as  to  see  in  Dublin 
impressed  us  most  agreeably.  All  you  have  heard  of  the 
beauty,  intelligence,  tact,  and  charming  vivacity  of  Irish 
ladies,  you  may  believe  —  you  cannot  believe  too  much.  The 
Irish  gentlemen,  for  gifts  of  conversation  and  entertainment, 
and  for  a  warm,  familiar,  yet  polished  courtesy,  are  absolutely 
unsurpassable.  Yet  I  have  somewhat  against  them.  I  have 
frequently  found  them  wanting  in  the  spirit  of  nationality  — 
completely  Anglicized  in  thought  and  feeling.  They,  many  of 
them,  speak  of  Ireland  and  the  Irish  as  though  not  of  it  oi 
them.  An  Irish  aristocrat  speaks  of  the  poor  peasantry  very 
much  as  the  southern  American  speaks  of  the  blacks. 

My  illness  in  Dublin  cost  me  the  relinquishment  of  a  visit 
to  Galway  and  Connemara,  and  the  pilgrimage  which  I  would 
gladly  have  made  to  the  birthplace  and  "the  Deserted  Vil- 
lage" of  Goldsmith.      My  friend  Mr.  B ,  who  made  this 

lour,  was  greatly  charmed  with  the  wild  pieturesqueness  of  the 
scenery,  and  reported  very  favorably  as  to  the  character,  con- 
rlition,  industrial  pro^spects,  and  educational  privileges  of  the, 
'  eople. 


CHAPTER    V. 

WiCKi^w.  —  Vale  of  Avoca.  —  Devil's  Glen.  —  Valley  of  thi 
Seven  Churches.  —  St.  Kevin.  —  Lough  Bray.  —  Sir  Philip 
Crampton.  —  Giant's  Causeway.  —  Castle  of  Dunluce —  North 
OF  Ireland.  —  Belfast.  —  Lough  Neagh.  —  Religious  and  Po- 
litical iJuESTioNS.  —  Anecdote, 

September  18. 

On  the  27th  of  August  we  left  Dublin  for  a  short  tour  in 
the  beautHul  county  of  Wicklovv.  We  discarded  the  car,  and 
travelled  quite  luxuriously  in  an  easy  carriage,  open,  but  shut- 
able  at  will,  with  a  pair  of  fine  horses,  and  a  driver  of  staid 
and  respectable  demeanor,  and  personal  appearance  slightly 
suffjjfestive  of  the  elder  Weller. 

We  set  forth  on  a  lovely  morning,  and  soon  found  ourselves 
in  a  country  of  great  natural  beauty,  and,  as  compared  with 
southern  Ireland,  in  a  fine  state  of  cultivation.  Our  first 
visit  was  to  the  "  Dargle,"  a  dark,  romantic  glen,  containing 
a  swift,  silvery  mountain  stream,  and  a  beautiful  waterfalL 
It  is  not  wild  enough  for  grandeur,  —  a  part  of  Lord  Powers- 
court's  demesne,  it  has  too  well-kept  an  air,  —  but  it  is  a 
pretty,  picturesque,  and  picnickish  place.  We  spent  an  hour 
or  two  very  delightfully,  wandering  through  its  cool  quietudes 
and  "  sun-dropped  shades." 

Our  next  visit  was  to  the  Vale  of  Avoca,  immortalized  by 
Moore  in  his  song  of  "  The  Meeting  of  the  Waters."  I 
looked  in  vain  in  the  little  streams  Avonmore  and  Avonbeg, 
in  their  wedding  at  Castle  Howard,  and  in  their  subsequent 
two-in-otieness,  their  slov,  sedate,  matrimonial  onflow,  as  the 
Avoca,  for  that  "purest  of  crystal"  which  gleams  in  the 
9  ♦  { 101 ) 


102  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

song.  The  poet's  words  have  a  more  silvery  flowing  thaii 
these  waters,  and  this  valley's  "  brightest  of  green  "  is  sur- 
passed by  the  verdancy  of  the  romantic  tourist  who  comes 
hither  hoping  to  behold  a  picture  of  entrancing  loveliness, 
which  was  "all  in  the  eye"  of  the  melodist.  The  current  of 
the  Avoca  is  evidently  discolored  by  the  copper  mines  worked 
on  its  banks  —  most  unpoetic  and  unlooked-for  adjuncts  to  that 
"  scene  of  enchantment."  Yet,  believe  me,  I  felt  a  deeper 
pleasure  in  seeing  the  poor  countrymen  of  the  poet  earning 
an  honest  livelihood  by  mining  in  those  beautiful  hills  —  rude 
avocation  for  the  "  sweet  Vale  of  Avoca  "  —  than  I  could  have 
known  in  the  perfect  realization  of  his  most  exquisite  dream. 

We  next  explored  the  "Devil's  Glen"  up  to  its  beautiful 
cascade.  His  satanic  majesty  seems  to  have  been  a  sort  of 
surveyor  general  of  Ireland  at  some  remote  period,  and  to 
have  indulged  his  vanity  by  giving  his  name  to  all  such  places 
as  particularly  struck  his  fancy.  The  desire  to  send  his  fame 
down  to  posterity  with  this  waterfall  certainly  does  honor  to  his 
taste  ;  for  surely  I  never  saw,  in  any  cascade,  a  more  enchant- 
ing combination  of  grandeur  and  grace.  The  glen  itself, 
lying  deep  and  dark  between  two  mountain  ridges,  is  a  wild 
and  lonely  place,  which  art  has  not  yet  profaned,  nor  "  cus- 
tom staled." 

On  the  second  day  of  our  tour  w^e  visited  perhaps  the  most 
wonderful  place  in  Ireland  —  the  "  Valley  of  the  Seven 
Churches,"  or  the  ancient  city  of  Glendalough.  Sir  Walter 
Scott  speaks  of  it  as  "  the  inexpressibly  singular  scene  of 
Irish  antiquities  ; "  and  it  surely  is  the  haunt  of  shadows  and 
the  abode  of  mysteries.  Between  black,  rocky,  barren  moun- 
tains, in  a  narrow,  gloomy  valley,  containing  two  dark  and 
almost  fathomless  lakes,  are  the  ruins  of  a  city  founded  early 
in  the  sixth  century  by  St.  Kevin,  a  holy  and  potent  person- 
age, second  only  to  St.  Patrick  in  the  pious  and  popular 
'egends  of   this  country       In  addition  to  the  ruins  of  the 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  103 

Seven  Churches,  built  on  a  singular  diminutive  scale,  and  in 
a  rude  style  of  architecture,  there  are  the  sepulchres  of  the 
ancient  kings  and  church  dignitaries,  and,  most  curious  of  all, 
one  of  those  mysterious  round  towers,  the  origin  and  purpose 
of  which  has  so  long  constituted  one  of  the  knottiest  of  anti- 
quarian problems. 

The  almost  deathly  quiet,  the  oppressive  loneliness,  the 
strange,  deep,  unearthly  gloom  of  this  mouldering  city  of  the 
dead  are  things  to  be  felt  in  all  their  melancholy  and  weird- 
like power,  but  which  could  scarce  be  pictured  by  the  sternest 
and  most  vivid  word  painting. 

We  selected  a  o^uide  from  a  clamorous  crowd  of  earner 
applicants,  in  the  person  of  George  Wynder,  a  wild,  pictu- 
resque, long-bearded  fellow,  who  proved  to  be  very  much  of  a 
character,  and  entertained  us  mightily  by  many  wonderful 
"  lagends  "  of  St.  Kevin,  the  famous  Irish  giant.  Fin  Mac- 
Cool,  and  the  royal  O'Tooles.  We  first  embarked  with  him  on 
the  upper  lake  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  "  St.  Kevin'?  bed.'* 
This  is  a  low,  narrow  cell,  hewn  in  the  solid  rock,  some  thirty 
feet  above  the  water,  and  only  reached  by  a  difficult  and  some- 
what perilous  piece  of  climbing.  This  dreary  mountain  eyry 
of  the  eccentric  saint  is  said  to  possess  peculiar  blessedness 
for  the  faithful ;  to  hold  certain  potent  charms  for,  and  to 
bestow  certain  inestimable  privileges  upon,  such  devout  dames 
as  make  to  it  pious  pilgrimages,  which,  from  its  almost  inac- 
cessible position,  can  only  be  accomplished  in  fear  and  trem- 
bling. It  may  be  that  the  saint  displayed,  at  the  last,  this 
especial  graciousness  towards  our  sex,  in  reparation  for  the 
slight  he  put  upon  it  in  the  most  ungallant  yet  most  renowned 
act  of  his  life.  Legends  tell  that  St.  Kevin,  then  a  young  and 
handsome  man,  fashioned  this  rocky  retreat  as  a  hiding-place 
from  a  very  singular  persecution,  in  the  form  of  loving  and 
pressing  attentions  from  a  beautiful  young  lady  by  the  name  of 
Kathleen .     The  last  name  is  not  known  —  St.  Kevin  do 


104  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

dining  to  divulge  it,  from  motives  of  delicacy,  probably  ;  but  she 
is  acknowledged  to  have  belonged  to  one  of  the  first  families. 
Yet  her  conduct  was  scarcely  in  accordance  wath  the  rules  of 
strict  feminine  decorum,  for  she  regularly  offered  herself  to 
his  saintsljip ;  though,  as  our  guide  charitably  remarked, 
"  May  be  'twas  in  lape  year  she  did  that  same,  poor  cray- 
thur!  "  At  all  events,  she  made  "  young  Kevin  "  the  tempt- 
ing proffer  of  lier  hand  and  heart  —  the  first  as  a  priest  he 
could  not.  the  last  as  a  saint  he  dared  not,  accept ;  so  he  took 
safety  m  flight,  and  scooped  out  that  hollow  in  the  steep  rock, 
by  the  lonely  lake,  where,  according  to  Moore,  in  his  song, 
beginnuig,  — 

"  By  that  lake  whose  gloomy  shore 
Skylark  never  warbles  o'er.  — 

he  congratulated  himself  that  he  was  at  last  quite  out  of  tho 
reach  of  his  fair  follower  and  tender  tormentor.  But  Miss 
Kathleen,  who  seems  to  have  been  an  enterprising  young 
woman,  with  a  courage  and  spirit  worthy  of  a  better  cause 
and  a  better  reward,  followed  him  even  here  ;  and  one  fine 
morning  when  he  awoke  he  found  her  bending  over  him, 
weeping,  and  fixing  on  his  face  "  eyes  of  most  unholy  blue." 
Moore  says, — 

"  Ah,  your  saints  have  cruel  hearts ; 
Sternly  from  his  bed  he  starts, 
And  with  rude,  repulsive  shock. 
Hurls  her  from  the  beetling  rock  !  " 

But,  according  to  our  guide,  "  the  saint,  as  he  lay  there  on 
his  back,  coolly  put  his  two  feet  agin  Kathleen's  breast,  and, 
without  as  much  as  a  *by  your  lave,  my  lady,'  kicked  her 
into  the  lake."  On  visiting  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  the 
latter  strikes  one  as  decidedly  the  most  probable  version  of 
the  story.  The  saint  could  hardly  have  had  room  to  "  start " 
from  "  his  bed  "  —  he  must  have  crawled  into  his  narrow 
quarters,  and  Kathleen  must  have  stood  at  the  entrance,  from 


A    TOUR    (N    EUROPE.  105 

whence  he  could  scarcely  have  thrust  her  into  the  lake,  with- 
out taking  at  least  a  ducking  himself,  in  any  but  the  ver^' 
ungentlemanlj'^  manner  referred  to. 

Our  guide  told  us  that  an  adventurous  Scotch  earl  lately  took 
a  fancy  to  spend  the  night  in  this  holy  bed  with  his  young 
son.  Though  wrapped  in  the  ample  folds  of  a  soft,  warm 
plaid,  his  lordship  got  no  sleep  —  being  kept  awake,  not  by 
the  drear  solemnity,  the  awful  loneliness,  of  the  surrounding 
scene,  not  by  the  sonorous  roaring  of  the  waves  below,  but 
by  the  more  sonorous  snoring  of  the  laddie  by  his  side. 

In  the  rock  of  "  the  bed  "  I  found  carved  the  names  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall,  Tom  Moore,  Maria  Edge  worth,  and 
Walter  Scott. 

Gerald  Griffin,  the  author  of  The  Collegians,  has  told 
the  story  of  Kathleen  and  St.  Kevin  in  a  poem  of  much 
power  and  beauty.  It  leaves  Moore's  ballad  far  behind,  and 
is  curious  and  admirable  as  giving  to  the  character  of  Kathleen 
true  maiden  purity,  and  a  sweet,  childlike  innocence,  and  yet 
winning  your  full  absolution  for  that  most  uncivil  sin  of  her 
drowning,  —  the  "deep  damnation  of  her  kicking  o^,^^ — by 
showing  that  the  cruel  act  was  one  of  Jiomentary  frenzy^ 
brought  on  by  a  long  and  fearful  struggle  between  human  love 
and  priestly  vows  and  saintly  aspirations. 

After  visiting  the  beautiful  waterfall  of  Powlanos,  we  took 
a  reluctant  and  lingering  leave  of  that  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
ancient  jiower  —  that  desolated  burial-place  of  monarchs  — 
that  old,  old  city  of  a  forgotten  and  recordless  past  —  Glenda- 
lough. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  of  our  tour  we  early  left 
the  charming  country  inn  where  we  had  spent  the  night,  and 
drove  over  a  magnificent  mountain  road  to  Lough  Bray,  and 
the  country  seat  of  Sir  Philip  Crampton,  on  its  shores,  where 
we  were  engaged  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

I  would  that  I  could  give  even  a  faint  idea  of  the  glorious 


106  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

ecenery  we  beheld  along  our  way  on  that  beautiful  mornIni|. 
Mountain,  valley,  lakes,  rivers,  and  waterfalls  around  and 
beneath  us — above  us  a  delicious  summer  heaven,  intensely 
blue  in  the  zenith,  but  (larkcned  witli  drifting  clouds  about  the 
mountain  tops,  every  now  and  then  melting  down  upon  us  in  a 
brief,  bright  shower,  every  drop  chased  by  a  sunbeam  as  it 
fell.  But  the  climax  and  crowning  of  the  wild  scenery  on  our 
way,  and  the  keen  enjoyment  of  the  morning,  was  the  sight  of 
Lough  Bray,  a  lonely  lake,  small,  but  fearfully  deep  and 
dark,  shut  in  by  high  heathery  hills,  rocky  and  precipitous 
—  the  entire  scene,  with  the  exception  of  the  beautiful  cottage 
and  grounds  of  Sir  Philip  Crampton,  retaining  its  primeval 
wildness,  grandeur,  and  desolateness.  The  tasteful  owner  of 
this  haunt  of  sounding  mountain  airs  and  solemn  shadoAVS  has 
rescued,  or  rather  created,  from  the  boggy  hillside,  the  ground 
for  his  gardens,  lawns,  and  fir  plantations  —  causing  those 
dreary  desert-places  to  rejoice  in  leafy  luxuriance,  and  "  blos- 
som as  the  rose."  The  loneliness  of  the  lake  is  relieved  by 
flocks  of  tame  waterfowl,  especially  petted  and  protected  by 
Sir  Philip,  and  by  a  number  of  those  beautiful  and  stately 
creatures,  the  swans.  A  row  upon  this  dark  water  was  a  rare 
delight  to  me,  from  a  peculiar,  deep,  low,  melodious  surge  of 
its  waves  —  caused,  it  is  said,  by  its  great  depth,  and  the 
rocky  steepness  of  its  shores. 

To  describe  all  the  out-door  picturesqueness  of  this  beauti- 
ful mountain  retreat  were  indeed  difficult ;  but  to  do  justice  in 
words  to  its  in-door  attractions,  to  the  generous  warmth  of  our 
welcome,  to  the  courteous  and  varied  entertainment,  which 
charmed  and  winged  alike  the  hours  of  sunshine  and  shower, 
were  quite  impossible.  Irish  hospitality  is  the  heartiest  and 
most  graceful  in  the  world,  and  Sir  Philip  Crampton's  is  the 
60ul  of  Irish  hospitality. 

We  drove  into  Dublin  that  night,  and  on  the  following  day 
lei  out  for  the  Giant's  Causeway.     The  places  and  objects  of 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  107 

most  interest  along  our  route  were  the  ancient  towns  of  Drog- 
heda  and  Dundalk  —  fortunate,  flourishing  Belfast,  with  its 
bright  beautiful  bay  —  Carrickfergus  and  Glenarm,  with  their 
fine  old  castles  —  and  the  town  of  Larne,  memorable  as  the 
place  where  Edward  Bruce  landed,  in  1315  —  and,  above  all, 
Fair  Head.  Much  of  the  scenery  of  the  coast  road  from 
Carrickfergus  to  the  Causeway  is  grand  and  beautiful  beyond 
description  ;  but  all  fades  fast  from  your  memory,  for  the  time, 
when  you  reach  the  crowning  beauty  of  all  —  the  wonder  of 
wonders  —  the  Causeway.  I  pray  my  reader's  pardon,  if 
here,  feeling  that  discretion  is  the  better  part  of  valor,  I  in- 
gloriously  shrink  from  an  effort  wliich  I  fear  would  inevitably 
result  in  failure.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  Cause- 
way. I  was  most  impressed  by  the  caves,  and  by  the  various 
fine  points  of  the  Causeway  itself,  as  seen  at  some  little  dis- 
tance from  the  sea.  A  nearer  inspection  increased  my  won- 
derment, but  did  not  so  powerfully  affect  me  through  my 
sense  of  the  strange  and  awful. 

An  object  of  much  romantic  interest,  and  of  most  feanul 
grandeur  of  site  and  surroundings,  in  this  neighborhood,  is  the 
ruined  Castle  of  Dunluce,  built  on  an  insulated  rock  a  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  sea,  and  separated  from  the  main  land 
by  a  chasm  twenty  feet  broad  and  nearly  a  hundred  feet  deep, 
which  is  crossed  by  a  bridge  only  eighteen  inches  wide.  One 
should  have  a  steady  brain  to  venture  upon  this  narrow  bridge, 
the  passage  of  wliich  is  peculiarly  perilous  if  the  wind  be  high. 
I  came  very  near  going  over  before  a  strong  blast  from  Bo- 
reas, who  sprang  up  from  the  chasm,  like  an  ambushed  foe,  to 
dispute  the  pass  with  me.  The  guide  told  us  that  a  young 
lady  was  lately  taken  off  in  this  way  by  a  sudden  gust  of 
wind,  but  was  so  buoyed  up  by  an  umbrella  she  held  in  her 
hand,  and  by  her  long,  full  skirts,  that  she  reached  the  ground 
lightly  and  safely.  A  Bloomer  costume  would  have  fearfully 
lei^.sened  her  chances. 


108  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

» 

We  returned  to  Belfast  in  time  to  attend  the  meetings  o1 
the  British  Association.  The  Lord  Lieutenant,  a  fine-looking 
elegant  man,  was  present,  on  the  first  day,  with  Lady  Eglin- 
ton,  a  handsome,  stately  woman.  Lucien  Bonaparte,  Prince 
of  Canino,  attended  regularly  He  is  strikingly  like  Napo- 
leon, but  stouter  and  darker.  I  sliould  say.  I  was  truly  im- 
pressed by  the  manner  and  presence  of  Dr.  Robinson,  of 
Armagh,  Archbishop  Whately,  Rear  Admiral  Sir  John  Ross, 
Sir  David  Brewster,  and  Lord  Ross,  of  philosophic  and  tele- 
scopic renown. 

September  23. 

After  three  weeks  of  delightful  travel,  and  three  weeks  of 
more  delightful  visiting,  I  am  about  to  take  leave  of  Ireland ; 
and  it  is  with  real  sorrow  at  my  heart  that  I  go,  quite  probably 
forever,  from  a  country  where  I  have  received  nothing  but 
noble  kindness  —  a  country  in  whose  sorrows  and  successes  1 
have  now  a  deepened  and  loving  sympathy  —  from  a  people 
for  whose  character  I  must  ever  feel  a  glowing  and  grateful 
admiration. 

It  were  scarcely  possible  to  express  the  feeling  of  relief,  con- 
solation, and  cheering  pleasure  which  I  experienced  on  visit- 
mg  the  north  of  Ireland,  after  my  tour  in  the  south.  The 
difference  is  wondrous  to  behold.  I  could  scarcely  believe 
such  utterly  different  sights  and  scenes  to  exist  in  one  and 
the  same  country  ;  but,  as  if  by  some  potent  enchantment  I 
had  been  transported,  in  a  single  night,  to  another,  a  fairer  and 
a  happier  realm,  I  gazed  about  me  in  a  sort  of  pleasant 
bewilderment  The  north-east  portion  of  Ireland,  in  the  culti- 
vation of  the  country,  the  prosperous  and  business-like  appear- 
ance of  the  towns,  and  the  condition  of  the  working  people,  to 
a  casual  observer,  at  least,  falls  but  little  behind  England. 

The  higher  degree  of  prosperity  which  this  section  of  the 
country  has  for  many  years  enjoyed  over  the  west  and  south 
play  doubtless  be  ascribed  in  great  part  to  Scotch  emigratioc 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  100 

and  thrift ;  but  much  is  also  owinoj  to  its  havinji:  more  resident 
and  efficient  landlords,  and  to  certain  privileges  which  tenants 
have  enjoyed  under  a  peculiar  custom,  which  has  almost  the 
authority  of  a  law,  giving  to  them  an  interest  in  the  land  they 
cultivate  and  improve.  This  is  the  famous  "  te^iant  rigltt^'' 
for  the  extension  and  legalization  of  which  noble  efforts  have 
been  made  by  Sharman  Crawford,  and  a  ^^\n  other  liberal 
landholders  and  true  friends  of  the  people.  It  was  a  question 
at  the  late  election,  but  was  defeated,  its  friends  say,  by  the 
dishonorable  means  of  intimidation,  if  not  of  bribery. 

The  linen  trade  is  the  great  feature  of  this  portion  of  Ire- 
land. At  one  season  you  see  field  on  field,  blue  with  the 
beautiful  flowers  of  the  flax  ;  at  another,  acres  of  meadow 
and  hillside  white  with  the  bleachinj?  web.  It  is  a  sight  to 
gladden  one's  heart,  and,  in  beholding  it,  you  wonder  not  that 
you  are  no  longer  pained  by  wayside  scenes  of  squalid  wretch- 
edness, or  followed  by  crowds  of  ragged  mendicants. 

Belfast  is  a  handsomely-situated  and  well-built  town,  with 
many  noble  and  admirably  conducted  institutions.  The  new 
Queen's  College  and  the  Deaf  and  Dumb  Asylum  are  beautiful 
buildings  ;  there  are  also  a  Lunatic  Asylum  and  a  Model 
Prison,  one  of  the  finest  in  the  kingdom.  But  perhaps  the 
place  of  n\ost  interest  for  one  whose  sympathies  are  especially 
with  the  young  and  poor  is  the  Industrial  School,  a  most 
excellent  institution,  under  the  National  Educational  Board, 
but  establislxed  and  carried  on  by  several  noble-hearted  and 
devoted  women,  and  supported  by  the  voluntary  subscription 
of  the  citizens  of  Belfast,  assisted  by  the  National  Board. 
The  school  numbers  about  one  hundred  children,  mostly  under 
twelve  years  of  age,  and  invariably  taken  from  the  poorest  of 
the  poor.  They  come  to  the  institution  at  half  past  seven  in 
the  morning;  take,  first,  a  thorough  washing;  then  are  dressed 
in  the  uniform  school  dress,  a  dark  gingham  frock  and  a 
white  pinafore ;  they  then  take  a  plain,  wholesome  breakfast, 
10 


110  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

and,  after  a  half  hour's  reading  of  such  portions  of  th(;  Bible 
as  are  allowed  by  the  National  Board,  and  not  objected  to  by 
Roman  Catholics,  are  instructed  in  knitting  and  sewing,  and 
the  common  branches  of  a  good  English  education.  These 
children  make  and  mend  their  own  clothes,  and  do  very 
creditably  a  considerable  amount  of  work  furnished  by 
friends  and  patrons.  There  is  also  a  class  engaged  in  weav- 
ing Valenciennes  lace,  of  a  beautiful  quality,  under  a  French 
teacher.  The  pupils  all  dine  at  the  establishment,  and  take 
there  a  certain  portion  of  bread  at  night.  Before  leaving, 
they  are  required  to  take  off  the  school  costume  and  to  rein- 
vest themselves  in  their  rags,  as,  in  most  cases,  it  would  not 
be  safe  to  allow  them  to  return  to  their  miserable  homes  and 
wretched  families  in  a  dress  which  could  be  pawned  or  sold 
for  meal,  potatoes,  or  whiskey. 

A  very  thorough  and  yet  attractive  system  of  instruction 
has  been  adopted  in  this  school,  and  is  carried  out  with  the 
utmost  faithfulness  by  its  self-sacrificing  and  earnest-hearted 
teachers.  I  know  not  which  interested  me  most  pleasantly  — 
the  cheerful  energy  and  enthusiasm  of  the  intelligent  and  lady- 
like principal ;  or  the  quiet  industry,  the  aptitude,  and  the 
bright,  happy,  grateful  look  of  her  pupils.  I  must  not  forget 
to  mention  that  in  this  excellent  work  Catholics  and  Protes- 
tants, the  benevolent  and  liberal  of  all  parties  and  sects,  are 
united,  and  that  the  entire  cost  of  its  sustainmcnt  does  not 
exceed  four  hundred  pounds  a  year. 

The  country  around  Belftist  is  finely  cultivated  and  exceed- 
ingly picturesque.  I  have  rare  pleasure  in  driving  about, 
with  my  friends,  on  an  easy  outside  car,  —  a  vehicle,  by  the 
way,  to  which  I  have  become  especially  partial, —  and  visiting 
places  of  remarkable  beauty  or  interest.  One  of  our  drives 
was  to  "  The  Giant's  Ring,"  an  immense  druidical  amphi- 
theatre, enclosed  by  a  high,  regular  mound,  with  the  mystic 
number  of  seven  openings,  and  containing  a  rude  cairn,  sup 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  Ill 

posed  to  have  been  used  as  an  altar  for  human  sacrifices  by 
"  the  priests  of  the  bloody  faith."  It  is  also  supposed  that 
the  mound  was  once  high  enough  to  shut  out  all  views  save 
that  of  the  heaven  above.  The  place  is  utterly  without  trees 
or  shrubbery ;  yet  no  deepest  valley,  dark  and  cold  with 
forest  and  mountain  shadows,  ever  wore  to  me  a  more,  lone- 
some, desolate,  and  solemn  aspect.  I  shivered  and  shrank 
with  a  vague  sense  of  mystery  and  fear  as  I  strove  to  send 
my  soul  back  through  the  Christian  ages,  into  the  far,  dim, 
barbaric  centuries ;  to  bid  it  stand  among  that  vast  surging 
concourse  of  savage  worshippers,  and  to  witness  those  awful 
rites,  where,  for  pious  chanting,  were  the  groans  and  cries 
of  the  victims ;  for  baptismal  and  holy  waters,  the  sprinkle 
and  gush  of  their  blood ;  and  where,  for  wreaths  of  sweet 
incense,  went  up  the  thick  smoke  of  their  burning. 

We  made  a  pleasant  excursion  one  day,  lately,  to  the  ruins 
of  Shane's  Castle,  the  ancient  palace  and  stronghold  of  the 
princely  O'Neills,  and  to  Antrim  Castle,  the  residence  of  Lord 
Masserene.  Shane's  Castle  is  a  ruin  surrounded  by  line  old 
trees  and  extensive  grounds,  and  grandly  situated  on  Lough 
Neagh,  the  largest  lake  in  the  United  Kingdom.  Tradition 
tells  us  that  this  great  body  of  water  covers  what  was  once  a 
fair  and  fruitful  valley,  with  snug  cottages  and  lordly  castles, 
and  grand  ecclesiastical  towers  ;  that  this  valley  contained  a 
well,  which  was  never  to  be  left  uncovered  for  an  hour,  under 
peril  of  a  general  inundation  ;  but  that  a  certain  damsel,  (there 
is  always  a  woman  at  hand,  with  your  historians,  sacred  and 
profane,  when  any  mischief  is  to  be  done,)  being  at  the  well, 
drawing  water,  spied  her  lover  at  the  other  end  of  the  valley, 
dropped  her  brimming  pitcher,  forgot  to  cover  the  well,  and 
ran  to  meet  him,  followed  by  a  foaming  flood,  which  rose  and 
rose,  till  maiden  and  lover,  cornfield  and  cottage,  turret  and 
tower,  all  slept  beneath  the  shining  wave.  But  an  old  cnron- 
icler  states  that  this  piece  of  carelessness  is  to  be  ascribed  to 


112  'HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

the  extreme  maternal  anxiety  of  a  young  mother,  who  "  went«j 
to  ye  well  for  to  fetche  water,  and  hyed  her  faste  to  her  childe, 
who  wepte  in  ye  eradele,  and  left  ye  well  uncovered."  I 
think  I  like  this  version  best.  But  that  there  are  in  this  lake 
submarine  church  establishments,  and  that  the  fish  swim  about 
at  their  pleasure  in  castle  keep  and  court  yard,  and,  scaly  fel- 
lows though  they  are,  have  the  entree  of  ancient  aristocratic 
halls,  we  have  the  word  of  Moore :  — 

,       "On  Lough  Neagh's  bank  as  the  fisherman  strays, 
When  clear,  cold  eve's  declining, 
He  sees  the  round  towers  of  other  days 
In  the  wave  beneath  him  shining." 

The  princely  proprietors  of  those  submerged  possessions^ 
who  so  suddenly  sunk  with  their  sinking  fortunes,  were  after 
all  but  a  degree  more  unfortunate  than  the  modern  lords  of 
neighboring  estates,  who  find  it  extremely  difiicult  to  keep 
their  heads  above  water. 

Antrim  Castle  is  a  fine,  rather  modern-looking  building, 
with  grounds  and  gardens  laid  out  in  the  French  style,  very 
prettily  and  effectively. 

In  the  meeting  and  proceedings  of  the  British  Association, 
at  this  place,  great  interest  was  manifested  by  all  classes. 
This  would  be  nothing  remarkable  in  America,  where  every 
man,  and  almost  every  woman,  feels  an  enlightened  in- 
terest in  all  matters  and  movements  of  literature,  science, 
morality,  and  politics ;  but  here  it  is  a  fact  significant  and 
inspiring. 

In  my  light  and  hurried  sketches  of  travel  and  society  in 
Ireland,  I  have  avoided  entering  upon  those  vexed  and  intri- 
cate questions  of  government  and  religion  which  have  caused, 
and  are  yet  causing,  such  a  wearisome  and  melancholy  amount 
of  discussion  and  dissension.  England  is  now,  it  is  evident, 
honestly  and  earnestly  endeavoring  to  repair  some  portion  of 
*Le  innumerable  wronjxs  and  the  immeasurable  evil  of  cen 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  113 

turies  of  misgovernment,  by  a  milder  and  juster  rule,  by  a 
noble  and  impartial  system  of  education  among  the  poor,  by 
the  lightening  of  taxation,  and  by  annulling  the  law  of  entail, 
and  permitting  the  sale  of  encumbered  estates.  It  is  a 
singular  fact,  that  by  far  the  greater  number  of  the  lands  thus 
thrown  into  the  market  have  been  purchased  by  Irishmen.  It 
is  to  be  hoped  that  large  portions  of  the  south  and  west  of 
Ireland,  left  for  so  many  years  to  waste  and  desolation  by 
titled  spendthrifts  and  ruined  absentees,  may  be  redeemed, 
cultivated,  and  made  profitable  by  Ireland's  worthier  indus- 
trial sons.  Yet  it  must  be  long,  very  long,  ere  green  Erin 
smiles  in  the  face  of  the  stranger  with  any  thing  like  universal 
prosperity,  plenty,  and  comfort.  The  character  of  her  com- 
mon people  has  been  lowered  in  times  past  by  ciA^il  and 
religious  oppression,  by  examples  of  "  spiritual  wickedness  in 
high  places,"  and  of  careless  improvidence  and  selfish  indul- 
gence in  their  superiors  by  rank  and  fortune.  There  are 
many  who  say  that  the  regeneration  of  this  country  is  to  be 
brought  about  alone  by  emigration  and  immigration — the 
fii'st  of  the  Irish  to  America  and  Australia,  the  last  of  the 
Scotch  and  English  into  the  depopulated  and  uncultivated 
territory  here;  but  I  am  strong  in  the  faith  that  the  best  work 
for  Ireland  is  yet  to  be  wrought  by  such  of  her  sons  as  are 
♦ruly  devoted  to  her  good  and  her  honor,  and  stay  by  her  in 
her  hour  of  need. 

The  strifes  and  dissensions  between  the  Catholics  and 
Protestants,  which  ran  so  fearfully  high  during  the  late 
elections,  are  still  carried  on  with  much  spirit,  creating  and 
keeping  alive  unchristian  alienations  and  enmities  among  the 
people.  The  English  High  church,  whose  grasping  after 
wealth  and  power,  whose  manifold  corruptions  and  abuses, 
smack  strongly  of  '•  the  world  and  the  flesh,"  to  say  nothing 
of  the  third  person  in  the  unholy  trinity,  certainly  displays  in 
these  contests  a  bitterness  of  denunciation  and  a  sharpness  of 
10* 


114  II APS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

sarcasm  more  partisan  than  apostolic;  while  the  Catholi* 
church  has  conducted  its  cause  with  a  high  hand,  and  witL 
more  zeal  and  determination  than  modesty  or  judiciousness. 
The  Catholic  party  take  especial  pains  to  parade,  in  an 
exulting  half-theatrical  and  thoroughly  offensive  manner,  the 
triumphs  of  their  faith,  as  manifest  in  the  numerous  conver- 
sions from  Protestantism.  The  converts  themselves  are 
advertised  and  feted  as  you  would  feie  a  distinguished  vocalist 
or  brilliant  performer.  As  an  example,  I  give  you  an  adver- 
tisement, cut  from  their  organ,  T7ie  Freemaii's  Journal:  — 

'^  Saint  James's  New  Church.  —  On  Tuesday,  the  24th 
instant,  the  Feast  of  St.  Bartholomew,  his  Grace  the  Most 
Rev.  Dr.  Cullen,  Lord  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  assisted  by 
other  prelates,  will  solemnly  dedicate  this  magnificent  church. 

"  The  dedication  sermon  will  be  preached  by  the  Rev. 
Henry  E.  Manning,  (late  archdeacon  in  the  Protestant 
church.) 

"  On  this  occasion,  this  distinguished  convert  and  gifted 
orator  will  deliver  his  first  discourse  in  Ireland. 

"  The  ceremony  will  conclude  with  a  grand  pontifical 
high  mass. 

"  A  grand  orchestra,  under  the  direction  of  Mr.  J.  Keane. 

"Reserved  seats,  £1;  family  tickets,  £l  10s.;  nave,  10*. ; 
aisles,  55. 

"To  be  had  at  Richardson's,  9  Chapel  Street;  Duffy's,  7 
Wellington  Quay  ;  Bellew's,  79  Grafton  Street ;  and  from  the 
clergymen  of  St.  James's  Chapel." 

This  reminds  me  of  an  anecdote  related  to  me  by  a  pleas- 
ant London  friend,  a  clever  bit  of  satire  aimed  at  the  English 
church.  On  the  Sunday  preceding  the  great  musical  festival 
at  IManchester,  in  1836,  the  Rev.  J.  Gadsby,  a  Baptist  minis- 
ter of  great  talent  and  singularity,  preached  a  sermon,  of  which 
he  had  previously  given  notice,  on  the  subject  of  the  festival. 
At  that  time  the  musical  festivals  were  of  a  very  mixed  char- 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  115 

acter  —  oratorios  in  the  churches  in  the  morning,  with  balls 
and  concerts  in  the  theatres  in  the  evening  —  all  being  io^  the 
benefit  of  public  charities.  Mr.  Gadsby  commenced  his  ser- 
mon by  saying,  "  My  friends,  there  is  to  be  a  grand  weading 
this  week  ;  and  as  I  think  it  improper  and  illegal,  I  intend  to 
protest  against  it,  and  I  hope  that  none  of  my  congregation 
will  sanction  it  with  their  presence.  The  church  and  the 
playhouse  have  been  courting  these  many  years,  and  this 
week  they  are  to  be  married.  The  first  objection  which  I 
make  to  the  union  is,  ike  parties  are  too  near  of  kin." 

To-morrow  I  leave,  with  some  kind  Irisli  friends,  for  a 
short  tour  in  Scotland.  I  doubt  not  that  my  pulses  will  throb 
with  unwonted  fulness,  and  my  heart  swell  with  unutterable 
emotion,  when  I  tread  the  beautiful  land  of  Scott  and  Burns ; 
but  my  love  I  leave  with  Ireland,  the  land  of  warm,  quick 
blood,  and  of  faithful  though  careless  hearts  —  the  land  of 
hospitality  and  quaint  humor,  of  passion  and  poetry,  of  wit 
and  melancholy,  of  laughter  and  of  tears. 


CHAPTE  R   VI. 

Ate.  —  Allow  AT.  —  The  Bikthplace  of  Burns.  —  The  Monument. 

—  Mrs.  Begg.  —  Glasgow.  —  Loch  Long.  —  Loch  Goil.  —  1n- 
verart.  —  Tarbet.  —  Ascent   op   Ben  Lomond.  —  Loch  Lomond. 

—  Loch  Katrine.  —  Stirling.  —  Edinburgh.  —  Holyrood.  — 
Melrose.  —  Abbotsford.  —  Dryburgh.  —  Newcastle  upon 
Tyne.  —  York.  —  The  Minster.  —  London.  —  Hampton  Court. 

Eduvbuxgh,   October  1. 
I  LEFT  Belfast  on  the  evening  of  the  23(1  of  September, 

with   my  friends  Mr.  and  Miss    N ,  for  a  short  tour  in 

Scotland.  We  landed  at  Ardrossan,  a  port  of  no  particular 
note,  and  from  thence  took  the  railway  to  Ayr.  This  last  is  a 
tine,  iiourishing  town,  but,  aside  from  the  "  twa  brigs,"  contain- 
in"'  no  objects  of  peculiar  interest  as  associated  with  Burns. 
Here  we  took  a  drosky,  and  drove  over  to  the  old  parish  of 
Alloway.  It  was  with  the  true  spirit  of  a  pilgrim  that  I  ap- 
proached the  birthplace  of  that  noble  poet  of  Love  and  Na- 
ture, whose  sweetest  songs  I  had  learned  from  my  mother's 
lips  almost  with  my  cradle  hymns.  As  I  gazed  aroimd  on 
the  scenes  once  dear  and  familiar  to  his  eyes,  my  heart,  if  not 
all  ao^low  with  its  earliest  poetic  enthusiasm,  acknowledged  a 
deep  sympathy  for,  and  did  honor  to,  him  who,  while  his  soul 
was  lifted  into  the  divine  air  of  poesy,  withdrew  not  his  heart 
from  his  fellows,  —  who  shared  humbly  in  their  humble  for- 
tunes, and  felt  intensely  their  simple  joys  and  bitter  sorrows,  — 
who,  with  all  his  faults,  was  honest  and  manly,  with  all  his 
wants  and  poverty,  proud  and  free,  and  nobly  independent, — • 
who,  amid  all  his  follies  and  errors,  acknowledged  God  and 
reverenced  purity. 

(116) 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  117 

The  cottage  in  which  Burns  was  born,  and  which  his  father 
bailt,  was  originally  what  is  here  called  a  "  clay  bigging,"  con- 
sisting only  of  two  small  apartments  on  the  ground  floor  —  a 
kitchen  and  sitting  room.  The  kitchen  has  a  recess  for  a  bed, 
and  here  the  poet  first  opened  his  bewildered  baby  eyes  on  au 
ungenial  world.  This  room,  it  is  supposed,  was  the  scene  of 
The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night.  I  was  somewhat  disappointed 
to  find  this  cottage  standing  on  the  road,  and  that  it  had  been 
built  on  to,  and  whitewashed  out  of  all  character  and  venera- 
bleness.  It  is  now  occupied  as  an  alehouse,  which  beseemeth 
it  little  as  the  scene  of  the  beautiful  religious  poem  above 
named.  A  few  rods  from  the  door  stands  the  "  auld  haunted 
kirk,"  through  one  of  whose  windows  luckless  Tam  O'Shanter 
took  his  daring  observation  of  Old  Nick  and  the  witches,  "  as 
they  appeared  when  enjoying  themselves."  This  is  a  pictu- 
resque, roofless,  rafterless  edifice,  in  a  good  state  of  picserva- 
tion.  In  the  pleasant  old  churchyard  rests  the  father  of  the 
poet,  beneath  the  tombstone  erected  and  inscribed  by  one 
whose  days  should  have  been  "  long  in  the  land  "  according  to 
the  promise,  for  Burns  truly  honored  his  father  and  his  mother. 

From  the  kirk  we  went  to  the  monument,  which  stands  ou 
the  summit  of  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Doon,  and  near  to  the 
"auld  brig"  on  the  "keystone"  of  which  poor  Tam  O'Shan- 
ter was  delivered  from  his  weird  pursuers,  and  his  gray  mare 
"  Meggie  "  met  with  a  loss  irreparable.  This  monument,  of 
which  the  prints  give  a  very  good  idea,  is  of  graceful  propor- 
tions and  a  tasteful  style  of  architecture.  The  grounds  about  it, 
though  small  in  extent,  are  admirably  kept,  shaded  with  fine 
shrubbery,  and  made  more  beautiful  by  hosts  of  rare  and 
lovely  flowers.  There  seemed  to  me  something  peculiarly  and 
touchingly  fitting  in  thus  surrounding  an  edifice,  sacred  to  the 
genius  of  Burns,  with  the  leafy  haunts  of  the  birds  he  loved, 
in  whose  songs  alone  would  his  tuneful  memory  live,  and  with 
the  sweetness  and  brightness  of  flowers,  from  whose  glowing 


118  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

hearts  he  would  have  drawn  deep  meanings  of  love  and  pure 
breathings  of  passion,  or  on  whose  frail,  fragrant  leaves  he 
would  have  read  holy  Sabbath  truths,  lessons  of  modesty  and 
meekness,  and  teachings  of  the  wondrous  wisdom  of  Him  who 
planted  the  daisy  on  the  lonely  hillside,  and  the  poet  in  a 
weary  world  —  the  one  to  delight  the  eyes,  the  other  to  charm 
and  cheer  the  souls,  of  his  creatures. 

Within  the  monument  we  saw  that  most  touching  relic  of 
Burns,  the  Bible  which  he  gave  to  "  Highland  Mary"  at  their 
solemn  betrothal.  It  is  in  two  volumes.  On  the  flyleaf  of 
the  first,  in  the  handwriting  of  the  poet,  is  the  text,  "  And  ye 
shall  not  swear  by  my  name  falsely :  I  am  the  Lord."  In  the 
second,  "  Thou  shalt  not  forswear  thyself,  but  shalt  perform 
unto  the  Lord  thine  oaths."  In  both  volumes  is  the  name  of 
Burns,  with  his  mason's  mark,  and  in  one  is  a  lock  of  Mary's 
own  beautiful,  golden  hair  —  a  soft,  glossy  curl,  which  in  that 
last  tender  parting  may  have  been  smoothed  down  by  the 
caressing  hand,  may  have  waved  in  the  breath,  or  lain  against 
the  breast,  of  the  poet  lover. 

The  view  from  the  summit  of  the  monument  is  one  of  rare 
interest,  embracing  as  it  does  many  of  the  scenes  of  the  life 
and  song  of  Burns.  The  scenery  of  Ayr  is  not  grand,  surely, 
nor  strikingly  picturesque ;  but  this  view  is  lovely,  quiet,  and 
pleasant  beyond  description  —  truly  a  smiling  landscape.  Per- 
haps something  was  owing  to  the  rich  sunshine  and  soft  air  of 
the  day,  and  more  to  the  wondrous  charm  of  association  ;  but 
I  never  remember  to  have  felt  a  more  exquisite  sense  of  beau- 
ty, a  delight  more  deep  and  delicious,  though  shadowed  with 
fad  and  regretful  memories,  than  while  sitting  or  strolling  on 
tlie  lovely  banks  of  the  Doon,  half  cheated  by  excited  fancy 
with  the  hope  that  I  might  see  the  rustic  poet  leaning  over  the 
picturesque  "  auld  brig,''  following,  with  his  great,  dark,  dreamy 
eyes,  the  windings  of  the  stream  below  ;  or,  witli  glowing  face 
upraised,  revelling  in  the   clear   blue   sky  and   fak   floating 


A    TOUll    IN    EUROPE.  119' 

clouds  above ;  or,  perchance,  walking  slowly  on  the  shore, 
coming  down  from  the  pleasant  "braes  o'  Ballochmyle,"  musing, 
with  folded  arms  and  drooping  head,  on  "  the  bonnie  lass " 
who  had  there  unconsciously  strayed  across  the  path  of  a  poet, 
and  chanced  upon  immortality.  The  Doon  seemed  to  roll  by 
with  the  melodious  flow  of  his  song  —  now  with  the  impetuous 
sweep  of  passion  ;  now  with  tlie  fine  sparkle  of  pleasant  wit ; 
now  under  the  solemn  shadows  of  sorrow  ;  now  out  into  the 
clear  sunlight  of  exultant  joy  ;  now  with  the  soft  gurgle  and 
silver  trickling  of  love's  light  measures  ;  now  with  the  low, 
deep  murmur  of  devotion.  As  I  lingered  there,  countless 
snatches  of  the  poet's  songs,  and  stanza  after  stanza  of  long- 
forgotten  poems,  sprang  to  my  lips  ;  rare  thoughts,  the  sweet, 
fresh  flowers  of  his  genius,  seemed  suddenly  to  blossom  out  from 
all  the  hidden  nooks  and  still,  shaded  places  of  memory,  and  the 
fair  children  of  his  fancy,  who  had  sung  themselves  to  sleep  in 
my  heart  long  ago,  stirred,  awoke,  and  smiled  into  my  face  again. 
Happily  for  me,  my  companions  fully  understood  and  sym- 
pathized with  my  mood  —  so  little  was  said,  that  much  might 
be  felt.     One  sung 

•'  Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon  ; " 

and  whether  it  was  that  his  voice,  in  its  soft,  pathetic  tones, 
was  peculiarly  suited  to  the  mournful  words  and  air,  or  that 
the  scene  itself  mingled  its  melodious  memory  with  the  sing- 
ing, I  know  not ;  but  never  before  had  I  been  so  affected  by 
the  song. 

On  our  way  back  to  Ayr,  we  called  to  see  the  sister  and 
nieces  of  Burns,  —  Mrs.  Begg  and  her  daughters,  —  who  we 
had  been  assured  were  kindly  accessible  to  visitors.  This 
visit  was  altogether  the  most  interesting  and  gratifying  event 
of  the  day.  Mrs.  Begg  lives  in  a  simple  little  rose-embowered 
cottage,  about  a  mile  from  her  birthplace,  where  all  who  seek 
her  with  a  respectful  interest  receive  a  courteous  and  cordial 


120  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

welcome.  *  Mrs.  Bcgg  is  now  about  eighty  years  of  age,  but 
looks  scarcely  above  sixty,  and  shows  more  than  the  remains 
of  remarkable  beauty.  Her  smile  could  hardly  have  been 
sweeter,  or  her  eyes  finer,  at  twenty.  Her  sight,  hearing,  and 
memory  seem  unimpaired  ;  her  manners  are  graceful,  modest, 
and  ladylike,  and  she  converses  with  rare  intelligence  and 
animation,  speaking  with  a  slight,  sweet  Scottish  accent.  Her 
likeness  to  Naysmith's  portrait  of  her  brother  is  very  markei 
—  her  eyes  are  peculiarly  like  the  idea  we  have  of  his,  both 
by  pictures  and  description — large,  dark,  lustrous,  and  chan- 
ging. Those  eyes  shone  with  new  brightness  as  I  told  her  of 
our  love  for  the  memory  of  her  beloved  brother,  our  sympathy 
in  his  sorrows,  and  our  honor  for  his  free  and  manly  spirit  — 
when  I  told  her  that  the  new  world,  as  the  old,  bowed  to  the 
mastery  of  his  genius,  and  were  swayed  to  smiles  or  tears  by 
the  wondrous  witchery  of  his  song.  But  when  I  spoke  my 
admiration  of  the  monument,  and  said,  "  What  a  joy  it  would 
have  been  to  him,  could  he  have  foreseen  such  noble  recog- 
nitions of  his  greatness  !  "  she  smiled  mournfully,  and  shook 
her  head,  saying,  "  Ah,  madam,  in  his  proudest  moments,  my 
poor  brother  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  ; "  then  added 
that  his  death  chamber  was  darkened  and  his  death  agony 
deepened  by  want  and  care,  and  torturing  fears  for  the  dear 
ones  he  was  to  leave.  I  was  reminded  by  her  words  of  the 
expression  of  an  old  Scotch  dame  in  our  country,  on  hearing 
of  the  completion  of  this  monument:  "  Puir  Rob;  he  asked 
for  bread,  and  now  they  gie  him  a  stane." 

Mrs.  Begg  says  that  Naysmith's  portrait  of  her  brother  is 
the  best,  but  that  no  picture  could  have  done  full  justice  to 
the  kindling  and  varying  expression  of  his  face.  In  her 
daughters,  who  are  pleasant  and  interesting  women,  you  can 
trace  a  strong  family  resemblance  to  the  poet.  The  three 
*ons  of  Burns  are  yet  living —  two  are  in  the  army,  and  one 
has  a  situation  under  government,  at  Dumfries.     All  three 


A    TOUK    IN    EUROPE.  121 

are  widowers.  When  I  saw  her,  Mrs.  Begg  was  expectlnji 
daily  the  two  youngest,  the  soldiers,  who  as  often  as  possible 
visit  Ayr,  and  cherish  as  tenderly  as  proudly  the  memory  of 
their  father. 

It  was  with  deep  emotion  that  I  parted  from  this  gentle  and 
large-hearted  woman,  in  whose  kindred  and  likeness  to  the 
glorious  peasant  I  almost  felt  that  I  had  seen  him,  heard  his 
voice  with  all  its  searching  sweetness,  and  had  my  soul  sound- 
ed by  the  deep  divinings  of  his  eyes.  It  seems,  indeed,  a 
blessed  thing,  that,  after  the  sorrow  which  darkened  her  youth, 
the  beholding  the  pride  of  her  house  sink  into  the  grave  in  his 
prime,  broken  hearted  by  the  neglect  of  friends,  the  contempt 
and  cruelty  of  foes,  by  care  and  poverty,  and,  bitterest  of  all, 
by  a  weary  weight  of  self-reproach,  that  she  has  lived  to  see 
his  children  happy  and  prosperous  —  his  birthplace  and  his 
grave  counted  among  the  world's  pilgrim  shrines  —  to  be  her- 
self honored  and  beloved  for  his  sake,  and  to  sun  her  chilled 
age  m  the  noontide  of  his  glory. 

From  Ayr  we  took  the  railway  to  Glasgow,  which  place 
we  did  not  reach  till  after  dark.  In  the  mornins:  we  rose 
early,  took  a  carriage,  and  drove  to  the  cathedral,  to  which 
we  were  so  fortunate  as  to  gain  admittance,  even  at  that  un- 
usual hour.  This  is  a  commandingly  situated,  vast,  and 
gloomy  edifice,  chiefly  remarkable  as  the  only  cathedral  in 
Scotland  spared  by  Knox  and  his  compeers  at  the  time  of  the 
reformation.  It  is  more  massive  than  beautiful,  but  has  a 
certain  heavy  grandeur  about  it,  that,  seen  as  we  saw  it,  in 
the  chill  and  grayness  of  the  early  morning,  oppresses  one  to 
a  painful  degree.  In  the  extensive,  dark,  and  melancholy 
crypts  beneath  this  cathedral  is  laid  the  scene  of  a  meeting 
between  Francis  Osbaldistone  and  the  Macgregor  in  Scott's 
Rob  Roy. 

On  a  height  back  of  the  cathedral  is  the  Glasgow  Necrop* 
11 


122  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

olis,  containing  some  fine  monumental  sculjjtures,  particularly 
conspicuous  among  which  is  a  statue  of  John  Knox. 

Glasgow,  for  a  manufacturing  town,  makes  a  very  hand- 
some appearance.  Many  of  tlu;  public  buildings  are  of  a  fine 
style  of  architecture  ;  and  the  planted  squares,  those  fresh 
breathing-places  off  the  crowded  business  streets,  are  truly 
beautiful.  In  Waverley  Square  stands  a  noble  column, 
crowned  with  a  statue  of  Scott. 

About  eight  o'clock  we  took  the  steamer  to  go  up  the 
Clyde,  Loch  Long,  and  Loch  Goil.  The  air  was  fresh,  and 
somewhat  too  keen  ;  but  the  sunlight  was  brilliant,  and  we 
greatly  enjoyed  the  trip.  The  first  object  of  particular  in- 
terest which  we  passed  was  the  grand  old  rock-seated  Castle 
of  Dumbarton,  famous  from  the  earliest  periods  of  Scottish 
history,  and  most  sadly  memorable  as  the  scene  of  the  betray- 
al of  Wallace  by  the  "  fause  Monteith." 

It  was  not  until  we  had  passed  up  Loch  Long  into  Loch 
Goil  that  the  true  Highland  scenery  began  to  open  upon  us  in 
its  surpassing  loveliness  and  rugged  grandeur.  The  shores  of 
Loch  Goil  are  rough,  barren,  and  precipitous,  but  now  and 
then  we  passed  green-sheltered  nooks  and  dark  glens  of  in- 
describable beauty.  I  grew  more  and  more  silent  and  uncon- 
scious of  my  immediate  surroundings,  for  my  very  soul  seemed 
to  have  gone  from  me,  to  revel  abroad  in  the  wide,  varied, 
enchantins:  scene.  At  Loch  Goil  Head  we  took  outside  seats 
on  the  stage  coach,  to  drive  through  (I  beg  pardon,  but  I  give 
the  name  as  it  was  given  to  me)  "  Big  Hell  Glen  "  to  Inve- 
rary,  on  Loch  Fyne. 

Our  driver  on  this  occasion  proved  to  be  a  decided  charac- 
ter, having  a  rich,  comic  humor  of  his  own,  a  good  memory, 
a  fine  voice,  and  admirable  powers  of  mimicry.  He  told  a 
story  well,  and  recited  poetry  like  a  tragedian.  After  inform- 
ing us  that  Loch  Goil  Head  was  the  scene  of  Campbell's  fine 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  123 

ballad  of  "  Lord  Ullin's  Daughter,"  he  recited  the  poem  v^ry 
effectively,  though  when  he  came  to  the  pa?.sag3,  — 

"  One  lovely  hand  was  stretched  for  aid, 
And  one  was  round  her  lover,"  — 

he  took  the  liberty  of  making  a  slight  change  in  the  text,  his 
version  being,  — 

"  One  lovely  hand  was  stretched  for  aid, 
And  ye  may  a'  guess  where  was  th'  ither." 

This  glen,  of  name  unholy,  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
passes  I  ever  beheld  —  a  wild,  winding,  shadowy,  magnificent 
place.  Verily,  indeed,  O  Juliet,  "  what's  in  a  name  ?  "  To 
me  it  certainly  seemed,  on  that  lovely  day,  that  "  Nickie  Ben," 
in  annexing  this  mountain  pass,  had  imprudently  laid  claim  to 
a  choice  bit  of  Heaven's  own  territory. 

Inverary  is  a  very  small  village,  but  we  found  there  a  nice, 
well-ordered  hotel,  where  we  were  exceedingly  comfortable  — 
a  far  better  inn,  surely,  than  the  one  at  this  place,  on  which 
Burns  perpetrated  this  witty  and  wicked  epigram :  — 

"Whoe'er  he  be  who  sojourns  iiere, 

I  pity  much  his  case,  ^ 

Unless  he  come  to  wait  upon 
The  lord,  their  god,  His  Grace." 

The  Duke  of  Argyle's  castle  and  grounds  are  now,  as  then, 
the  chief  features  of  the  place  after  the  scenery,  which  is 
certainly  very  beautiful.  It  is  truly  a  princely  residence  in 
site  and  surroundings,  though  the  castle  itstlf  is  built  neither 
in  a  style  of  feudal  grandeur  nor  modern  elegance.  After 
dinner  we  took  a  stroll  through  the  noble  park,  and  ascended 
a  hill  nearly  eight  hundred  feet  high  —  in  all,  a  walk  of  over 
five  miles.  The  next  morning  proved  stormy,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  post  in  a  close  carriage  round  the  head  of  Loch 
Fyne,  through  Glen  Croe,  past  the  head  of  Loch  Long  to 
Tarbet,  on  Loch  Lomond.     Tlie  weather  cleared  up,  so  thai 


124  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

we  were  able  to  have  a  little  stroll  by  the  lake  in  the  evening; 
and  the  next  morning,  which  was  clear  and  bright,  we  walked 
before  breakfast  over  to  Loch  Long,  where  we  took  a  drive 
along  the  shore  in  a  peculiar,  indescribable  vehicle,  called  a 
"  dog  cart."  The  morning  air  was  a  trifle  too  frosty,  and  we 
were  on  the  shady  side  of  the  loch,  or  this  drive  along  a  most 
picturesque  road,  with  some  new  beauty  of  scenery  present- 
ing itself  at  every  turn,  would  have  been  deliglitful  beyond 
compare.  As  it  was,  we  soon  found  ourselves  obliged  to  nurse 
our  rapture  to  keep  it  warm,  and  only  by  heroic  efforts  could 
we  restrain  the  zeroic  tendency  of  our  enthusiasm.  So  per- 
fectly benumbed  did  we  become,  that  we  were  only  too  happy 
to  resign  our  state,  descend  from  our  "  dog  cart,"  and  do  the 
last  two  miles  on  foot,  cheerily  inspired  by  thoughts  of  the 
glowing  fire  and  the  hot  breakfast  which  awaited  us  at  the 
pleasant  inn  at  Tarbet. 

The  ascent  of  Ben  Lomond  from  Rowardennan  is  not  per- 
ilous or  very  difficult,  but  is  exceedingly  tedious.  The  distance 
is  about  six  miles  :  we  rode  the  whole  way  on  ponies  trained 
to  the  business  —  strong,  quiet,  'and  surefooted  animals,  for- 
tunately for  us,  as,  after  the  heavy  rain  of  the  preceding  day, 
the  path  was  in  an  usually  bad  condition,  with  loose  stones, 
slippery  rocks,  deep  mire,  and  shaky  bogs. 

We  started,  well  wrapped  in  cloaks,  shawls,  and  furs,  fearing 
the  breezes  of  the  air  on  the  mountain  summits ;  but  we  soon 
found  ourselves  obliged  to  lay  aside  one  after  another  of  these 
articles,  for  as  we  reached  the  heights  we  found  the  upper 
day  there  not  only  as  resplendently  bright,  but  as  soft,  and  still, 
and  summer-like,  as  the  sweet,  unseasonable  morning  we  had 
left  in  the  valley. 

About  half  way  up,  we  paused  to  revel  ip  a  glorious  view 
of  Loch  Lomond,  smiling  up  to  heaven  in  all  its  entrancing 
beauty  of  silvery  waters,  verdant  clusterirg  islands,  and  moun 
Jain-shadowed  shoi'cs. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  125 

I  cannot  believe  that  any  most  sweet  and  wondrous  vision 
of  earthly  loveliness  or  grandeur  will  have  power  to  banish 
that  fair  picture  from  my  memory.  But  from  the  summit 
what  a  mighty,  measureless  panorama  —  what  a  world  of  light 
and  shadow  —  what  a  glory  of  nature  —  what  a  wonder  of 
God  lay  beneath  and  around  us !  Words  can  only  give  you 
an  idea  of  the  extent,  of  the  vast  circumference,  of  that  view. 
To  the  east  are  the  hills  and  valleys  of  Stirlingshire  and  the 
Lothians,  Stirling  Castle  and  the  windings  of  the  Forth,  the 
Pentland  Hills,  Arthur's  Seat,  and  Edinburgh  Castle.  In  the 
south,  tlie  peak  of  Tinto,  the  city  of  Glasgow,  Lanarkshire, 
Ailsa  Craig,  the  Isle  of  Man,  and  the  Isles  of  Bute  and  Arran 
—  and,  gazing  down  beyond  the  outlet  of  Loch  Lomond,  you 
see  Dumbarton.  But  on  the  north  I  beheld  the  grandest  sight 
that  ever  met  my  gaze  —  mountains  on  mountains,  stretching 
away  into  the  distance,  and  seeming  like  the  mighty  waves  of 
a  dark  sea  stayed  in  their  stormy  swell,  petrified  and  fixed 
forever  by  the  word  of  Omnipotence.  Vexed  indeed,  and  tu- 
multuous, must  have  been  that  awful  chaotic  ocean,  ere  its 
vast  billows  and  black  hollows  were  resolved  into  the  ever- 
lasting- rock  —  for  amon^;  these  mountain  forms  there  is  a 
wondrous  and  endless  variety.  Our  guide,  a  bright  young 
laddie,  seemed  nowise  awed  by  the  imposing  presence  of  the 
mountains,  but  pointed  out  the  chief  of  them,  Ben  Ledi,  Ben 
Voirlick,  Ben  More,  Ben  Lawers,  Cairngorum,  Ben  Cruachan, 
and  Ben-  Nevis,  as  familiarly  as  he  w^ould  speak  of  other  and 
lesser  Bens  of  his  acquaintance.  Beneath  us  shone  Loch 
Lomond,  Loch  Katrine,  Loch  Ard  —  the  wild  country  of  Rob 
Roy*  — the  scene  of  the  enchanting  romance  and  song  of 
Scott.  Yet  here,  for  the  first-  time,  all  the  associations  of 
History  and  poetry  lost  their  charm  —  I  was  above  and  beyond 
them.  On  that  sublime  and  lonely  height,  on  whose  still,  pure 
air  floated  no  sound  of  hump.n  life,  the  thoughts  and  emotions 
of  my  heart  were  reverential  and  religious.  The  stupendous 
11* 


12G  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

mountain  peaks,  the  eternal  hills  around,  seemed  altars  for 
Nature's  perpetual  worship  — towering  types  of  the  might  and 
majesty  of  God  ;  while  the  lakes  with  their  silver  shining,  and 
the  green  valleys  with  their  still  shadows  and  golden  gleams 
of  autumnal  sunlight,  in  all  their  wondrous  beauty,  spoke 
sweetly  to  the  awed  spirit  of  divine  love  and  protecting  rare. 
Even  while  tremblingly  acknowledging  God  from  tliose  awful 
mountain  summits,  the  soul  strove  in  vain  to  ascend  into  "  the 
place  of  the  Most  High  ; "  it  seemed  to  grow  blind  and  dizzy, 
and  to  flutter  like  a  spent  bird  down  into  the  abysses  of  doubt 
and  despair.  But  from  the  valleys,  the  quiet,  sheltered,  lux- 
uriant valleys,  the  happy  heart  could  look  up  confidingly,  and 
say,  '•  Abba,  Father." 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  following  this  memorable  ascent, 
we  took  the  steamer  for  the  head  of  Loch  Lomond,  passing 
Rob  Roy's  Cave,  and  beholding  much  beautiful  scenery.  Re- 
turning to  Inversnaid,  we  took  a  drosky  and  drove  across  a 
rough,  wild  country,  to  Loch  Katrine.  On  our  way  we  were 
shown  the  ruins  of  a  Highland  hut,  the  birthplace  and  early 
home  of  Helen  Mac  Gregor. 

At  the  head  of  Loch  Katrine  we  embarked  on  a  funny 
little  steamer,  which  certainly  did  not  hurry  us  past  scenes  on 
•which  our  imagination  delighted  to'linger.  The  head  of  this 
lake  is  not  particularly  beautiful,  but  I  found  that  my  most 
glowing  conceptions  had  not  surpassed  the  exquisite  loveliness 
of  that  portion  which  forms  the  opening  scene  of  The  Lady 
of  the  Lake,  Ellen's  Isle,  the  Mountains  Ben  An  and  Ben 
Venue,  and  the  defile  of  the  Trosacks.  Here  island,  and  shoie, 
and  hill  are  richly  clad  in  magnificent  foliage  ;  and  the  gran- 
deur of  rocky  heights  and  dark  ravines  is  so  pleasantly  re- 
lieved, so  softly  toned  down,  that  you  feel  neither  wonder  nor 
awe,  but  drink  in  beauty  as  your  breath — lose  yourself  in 
delicious  dreamings,  and  revel  in  all  the  unspeakable  rapture 
of  a  pure  and  i)erfect  delight.     A  remembrance  which  is  an 


A  TOUR  IN  p:urope.  127 

especial  joy  to  me  now,  "  and  ever  shall  be,"  is  of  a  walk  taken 
with  my  friends  that  night  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  to  the 
pebbly  strand  opposite  Ellen's  Isle,  which  seemed  sleeping  in 
the  moonlight,  afioat  on  the  still  waters,  even  as  its  fair  vision 
had  floated  before  my  soul  on  the  silver  waves  of  the  poet's 
song. 

A  stage-coach  drive  to  Stirling,  the  next  day,  was  over  the 
ground  of  the  chase  followed  by  Fitz-James.  We  passed  the 
once  "  bannered  towers  of  Doune,"  now  ruined  and  ivy-grown 
—  a  fine,  picturesque  old  castle.  Crossing  the  bridge  over  the 
Forth,  on  entering  the  ancient  town  of  Stirling,  reminded  me 
of  a  characteristic  anecdote  I  had  lately  heard  of  a  sturdy 
Scotch  dame,  who  once,  during  a  stormy  season,  had  occasion 
to  cross  the  river  at  a  ferry  some  twenty  miles  below.  Tho 
ferryman  told  her  that  the.  waters  ran  high,  and  the  wind 
promised  a  hard  blow,  but  that,  as  her  business  was  pressii<g, 
he  would  do  his  best  to  get  her  safely  across.  "  Is  there 
muckle  danger,  mon  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Ay,  woman,  the  passage 
wad  be  perilous,  but  ye  maun  put  your  trust  in  Providence." 
"  Na,  na,"  says  the  prudent  dame,  drawing  back,  "  I'll  no 
trust  in  Providence  so  lang  as  there's  a  brig  at  Stirling,"  and 
actually  set  forth  to  walk  the  whole  distance  round.  There  is 
a  volume  of  national  character  in  this  little  story.  An  Irish 
woman  would  have  trusted  in  Providence,  or  rather  in  Saint 
Patrick  and  the  "  holy  Virgin,"  and  told  her  beads  across  the 
perilous  passage,  rather  than  wearied  her  bones  by  taking  the 
safe  roundabout  way. 

The  Castle  of  Stirling  is  one  of  the  most  grandly  situated 
of  Scotland's  old  royal  strongholds,  and  is  a  dark,  frowning 
pile,  thronged  with  sombre  and  bloody  memories.  The  view 
from  the  wall  is  one  of  the  most  charming  in  its  beauty,  and 
«;oul-stirring  in  its  associations,  possible  to  take  in  any  where, 
with  one  slo^y,  wondering  sweep  of  the  eye.  Far  away  in  the 
^tstance   tower    the  majestic  mountain  shapes  of  the  grand 


128  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

Highlands ;  beneath  and  around  us  lie  the  silver  courses  of  the 
Forth,  the  Teith,  the  Allan,  and  all  the  richly-cultivated 
country  through  which  they  wind,  slowly  and  quite  circui- 
tously,  as  though  reluctant  to  flow  away  from  banks  so  lovely ; 
while  green  and  beautiful  as  any  richest  meadows  smile  to- 
wards the  smiling  skies  the  once  bloody  and  trampled  battle 
fields  of  Falkirk,  Cambuskenneth,  and  glorious  Bannock- 
burn. 

Our  guide  pointed  out  to  us  the  remains  of  the  terraced 
garden,  the  round  table,  and  the  royaL  canal  constructed  under 
the  direction  of  Mary  of  Guise,  the  sallyport  whence  issued 
"  the  Gudeman  of  Ballengeich,"  the  "  King  of  the  Commons," 
on  his  incog  expeditions  among  the  people,  the  window  out  of 
which  James  II.  hurled  the  Earl  of  Douglas  after  having  dlain 
him  with  his  own  royal  hand,  and  the  tower  in  which  Roder- 
ick Dhu  is  said  to  have  died.  Mary  Stuart  was  crowned  at 
Stirling,  and  James  VI.  was  here  educated  under  Buchanan. 

We  reached  Edinburgh  in  a  rain,  which  proved  to  be  the 
beginning  of  the  equinoctial  storm,  so  that,  though  we  have 
spent  three  days  in  the  grand  old  town,  we  have  had  but  one 
day  of  tolerable  weather  for  sightseeing.  On  that,  a  friend, 
who  kindly  undertook  the  office  of  cicerone,  conducted  us  first 
to  the  castle,  through  pleasant  planted  grounds,  where  not 
many  years  ago  was  a  small  loch.  We  found  the  view  from 
the  ramparts  truly  magnificent,  though  obscured  somewhat  by 
an  envious  mist.  Looking  down,  the  contrast  between  the 
dark,  quaint,  mouldering  "  old  town,"  and  the  elegant,  cheer 
I'ul,  prosperous  new  town,  is  the  most  curious  and  striking  of 
conceivable  sights. 

Of  all  foreign  places  which  I  had  ever  seen,  Edinburgh 
wears  to  me  the  most  familiar  aspect.  I  joyfully  recognize 
object  after  object,  street  after  street,  as  though  "  to  the  manor 
born,"  and  only  returned  after  a  few  years  of  wandering  or 
weary  exile.     I  needed  no  guide  to  point  out  Arthur's  Seat, 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  129 

Salisbury  Crags,  St.  Leonard's,  the  Grajs  Market,  and  the 
Canongate. 

In  the  most  ancient  part  of  the  castle  we  were  shown  some 
rude,  sombre  apartments,  once  appropriated  to  Mary  Stuart  — 
the  one  of  most  historical  interest  being  a  small  dressing  room, 
in  which  James  VI.  was  born. 

On  descending  from  the  castle,  we  visited  some  interesting 
old  places,  among  them  the  house  in  which  Boswell  lived  when 
Johnson  visited  Edinburgh,  the  house  of  John  Knox,  and  the 
Canongate  churchyard,  in  which  reposes  the  poet  Ferguson, 
beneath  a  tombstone  erected  by  Burns,  and  where  are  also  the 
graves  of  Adam  Smith,  Dugald  Stewart,  and  Dr.  Gregory. 

We  went  through  the  Parliament  House,  a  building  of  no 
great  outward  elegance,  but  containing  some  magnificent  halls. 
We  unfortunately  had  not  time  to  enter  the  fine  old  Cathedral 
of  St.  Giles,  venerable  as  the  scene  of  a  tumultuous  struggle 
for  the  estabHshment  of  Prelacy  in  the  time  of  the  first 
Charles,  and  within  whose  walls  the  Regent  Murray  and  the 
Marquis  of  Montrose  were  buried.  By  the  way,  no  sight 
which  I  behold  that  day  more  startled  my  heart  than  that  of 
the  stone  balcony  of  an  old  house  in  the  Canongate,  from 
which  the  brutal  Argyle  and  the  shameless  Gordon  bent,  ex- 
ulting over  and  mocking  at  the  great  Montrose,  on  his  way  to 
receive  his  sentence. 

The  Tolbooth  seemed  no  stranger  to  my  eyes,  and  Holy- 
rood  Palace  was  as  near  as  possible  what  I  looked  to  see  —  a 
building  neither  grand  nor  beautiful  in  itself,  and  interesting 
alone  for  its  tragic  and  romantic  memories.  After  visiting 
the  picture  gallery,  which  we  soon  "  did,"  few  or  none  of  the 
portraits  being  accounted  genuine,  we  were  shown  through  the 
apartments  of  Mary  and  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  abbey. 
The  presence  chamber  of  the  unfortunate  queen,  though  far 
from  being  of  royal  dimensions,  richness,  and  splendor,  accord- 
ing to  modern  ideas,  must  have  been  a  handscme  apartment 


130  HATS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

in  Mai-y's  time.  The  roof  is  of  oak,  beautifully  carved,  ano 
the  walls  are  hung  with  quaint  pictures  and  rare  old  prints. 
It  is  a  silent,  bare,  and  desolate  room  now ;  yet,  as  I  stood 
there,  vision  after  vision  of  royal  magnificence,  and  courtly 
beauty,  and  splendid  festivity  passed  before  me  —  the  shadows 
of  ages  fled  before  the  gleam  of  jewels,  and  the  festal  lights 
of  gay  masks  and  nuptial  rejoicings ;  while  the  drear  silence 
of  long  sadness  and  fear  was  broken  by  rich  music,  the  regal 
rustle  of  brocade,  the  soft  voices  and  pleasant  laughter  of  fair 
ladies,  and  the  gallant  words  and  light  sword  clang  of  noble 
knights,  as  they  went  down  the  dance.  Standing  in  Mary's 
own  private  apartment,  looking  at  the  bed  on  which  her  lovely 
limbs  had  once  reposed,  and  on  the  mirror  which  had  so  often 
given  back  the  fair  reflection  of  her  face,  affected  most  power- 
fully my  imagination  and  my  sympathies.  The  minia<^ure 
which  is  here  shown  was  nothing  to  me  —  I  scarcely  gave  it  a 
glance,  but  stood  gazing  at  that  faithless  glass,  as  though 
hoping,  by  the  mere  force  of  my  passionate  desire,  to  evoke 
again  to  its  cold  surface  one  warm  vision  of  that  rare  royal 
beauty  and  stately  grace  it  had  so  often  imaged  forth  in 
times  of  gladness  and  grief.  The  little  room  in  which  the 
queen  sat  at  supper  with  David  Rizzio,  on  the  night  of  his 
murder,  and  the  private  staircase  up  which  the  assassins  came 
from  the  chapel  below,  were  next  shown  us.  Here  I  felt  little 
wonder  at  Mary's  oath  of  vengeance,  or  at  her  relentless  re- 
demption of  that  oath.  If  she  were  innocent  in  the  favor 
shown  the  Italian,  the  woman  was  vilely  insulted  by  the  black 
suspicion  of  the  chief  rauyderer,  her  husband ;  if  guilty,  the 
sovereign  was  outraged  and  defied  by  the  ferocious  deed ;  and, 
proud  and  passionate  as  she  was,  it  is  surely  no  marvel  that 
she  swore  to  avenge  the  murder  of  her  favorite,  by  the  wild 
death  shrieks  which  rang  through  a  heart  which  his  sweet 
music  had  so  often  soothed,  and  by  his  fifty-six  wounds,  whose 
blood  stained  forever  the  floor  of  her  chamber.     Standing  on 


A    TOUR    IN    KUllOPE.  131 

the  very  spot,  bmught  the  scene  of  this  frightful  trage^ly  and 
brutal  outrage  awfully  near  to  the  mind)  and  the  passions  of 
the  time  more  awfully  home  to  the  heart. 

The  old  Abbey  Church  is  accounted  a  fine  Gothic  ruin,  but 
is  of  a  very  lonely  and  dreary  aspect ;  the  atmosphere  seemed 
to  me  heavy  and  noisome,  and  8.11  the  shadowy  places  haunted. 

Our  friend  next  conducted  us  to  Carlton  Hill,  from  which 
we  had  a  wide  and  beautiful  view  of  the  entire  town  and  the 
surrounding  country.  The  clouds  having  obligingly  dispersed 
for  a  little  while,  the  sight  was  truly  imposing  and  enchanting. 
On  this  hill  there  are  several  fine  monuments  —  the  first,  and 
by  far  the  finest,  is  that  to  Dugald  Stewart.  There  is  one  to 
Burns,  not  very  tasteful  or  well  proportioned,  and  another  to 
Professor  Playfair ;  then  there  is  the  Nelson  Tower,  and  the 
beautiful  beginning  of  the  National  Monument,  on  the  model 
of  the  Parthenon. 

I  had  inexpressible  pleasure  in  contemplating  the  Scott 
Monument,  in  Prince  Street,  which  we  next  visited.  This  is 
a  fair,  complete,  noble,  and  fitting  erection.  The  style  is  a 
gorgeous  Gothic,  and  all  the  elaborate  detail  is  exquisitely 
wrought  out.  It  seems  to  me  admirably  in  keeping  with  the 
character  and  genius  of  Scott  —  a  pure  poetic  creation,  in  the 
grace  of  it^  form  and  the  delicate  beauty  of  its  adornments, 
yet  magnificent  and  stately  in  its  proportions  —  a  proud  and 
princely  structure.  This  monument  enshrines  Chantrey's  noble 
statue  of  the  poet  —  sitting  gracefully  draped  in  a  plaid,  and 
with  his  faithful  dog  at  his  feet.  On  our  walk  home  we  were 
shown  the  house  in  which  Scott  liwid  for  several  years  before 
he  built  Abbotsford. 

Our  stay  in  Edinburgh  being  so  limited,  and  the  weather 
so  wretchedly  unpleasant,  I  have  not  attempted  to  see  much 
of  society,  have  not  even  delivered  the  letters  I  brought,  but 
contented  myself  with  a  dinner  and  an  evening  at  the  house 


132  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

ot  Mr.  George  Combe,  with  whom  I  had  a  slight  personal 
acquaintance.  I  here  met  some  people  whom  I  felt  it  a  rare 
good  fortune  to  know.  Fii*st  among  these  I  trust  I  may  men- 
tion my  kind  hostess  herself,  the  only  surviving  daughter  of 
Mrs.  Siddons,  and  strikingly  like  her  noble  and  beautifnl 
mother.  It  was  absolutely  startling  to  glance  from  the  splen- 
did portraits,  by  Lawrence,  of  the  immortal  tragedienne,  which 
adorned  the  walls,  to  her  living,  speaking,  smiling  picture  in 
our  midst. 

Mr.  Combe  seems  to  retain  vivid  and  pleasant  recollections 
of  his  visit  to  the  United  States,  and  to  faithfully  cherish  his 
transatlantic  friendships ;  and,  what  is  more,  he  keeps  his 
early  enthusiasm  for,  and  generous  interest  in,  all  questions  of 
true  reform  and  noble  progress.  Among  other  agreeable 
guests  whom  I  met  at  Mr.  Combe's  table  was  Mrs.  Stirling,  a 
Scotch  authoress  of  celebrity,  and  a  very  charming  woman, 
and  Mr.  Robert  Chambers,  who  astonished  me  at  first,  by 
being  a  younger  man,  by  some  twenty  years,  than  I  had  ex- 
pected to  see,  and  charmed  me  afterwards  by  the  kindly  affa- 
bility, fine  humor,  and  generous  feeling  which  marked  his 
manner  and  conversation. 

I  leave  Edinburgh  with  painful  reluctance,  a  feeling  of 
rebellious  disappointment,  at  having  missed  so  many  of  its 
noble  sigfits.  Of  all  the  cities  of  the  world,  it  has  long  been 
the  one  which  I  have  regjirded  with  the  most  intense  interest, 
and  most  eagerly  desired  to  visit.  The  dark  stiuggles  of  early 
Scottish  history  —  the  long,  fierce  battle  storms,  lit  by  brief 
splendors  of  heroism  —  the  pomp  of  feudal  power  and  old  royal 
pageants  — holy  martyrdoms  for  freedom  and  for  God  —  Mary 
Stuart's  proud,  sad,  and  tempestuous  career  —  the  romance  of 
Scott,  the  poetry  of  Burns  —  all  have  conspired  to  give  to  this 
place  a  charm  for  my  heart  and  a  power  over  my  imagination 
peculiar  and  preeminent.     Thus   it  is  only  by  a  desperate 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  183 

effort  that  T  tear  myself  away,  pledging  myself  solemnly  to  my 
own  heart  *o  return  at  some  "  more  convenient  season,"  some 
golden,  future  day. 

Blackheath  Park,  London,  October  15 

The  morning  of  our  leaving  Edinburgh,  though  far  from 
brilliant,  was  not  stormy,  or  chill,  and  we  were  sincerely 
thankful  for  a  cessation  in  the  pelting  rain  which  had  made 
"auld  Reekie,"  with  all  her  modern  beauties,  so  thoroughly 
dismal  for  the  days  of  our  visitation.  We  stopped  at  the 
Melrose  station,  and,  taking  a  carriage,  drove  over  to  Abbots- 
ford,  some  three  miles.  The  country,  though  exceedingly 
pleasant,  did  not  strike  us  as  remarkably  picturesque ;  and  be- 
fore we  dreamed  of  such  a  thing,  we  were  at  Abbotsford, 
which  lies  low,  on  the  banks  of  the  Tweed,  hidden  from  the 
road  by  a  thick  plantation.  The  grounds  are  very  beautiful, 
and  have,  need  I  say,  a  peculiar  mournful  charm  in  all  their 
lovely  lights  and  shades  of  greenery,  from  the  recollection  that 
he,  the  immortal  master,  planned  and  planted,  and  found  his 
purest,  richest  pleasure  in  adorning  them. 

The  house  itself  is  a  superb,  baronial-looking  residence, 
strikingly  picturesque  in  effect,  and  wonderfully  in  keeping 
with  the  mind  and  taste  of  the  noble  builder.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  natural  productions  of  his  genius.  You  could  almost 
fancy  it  in  all  its  varied  forms  of  antique  beauty,  quaint  and 
strange,  yet  ever  graceful  and  imposing  —  his  light,  enchanting 
poetry  and  his  glorious  romance  resolved  into  stone.  It  is  a 
curious  pile — an  odd  yet  not  inharmonious  assemblage  of 
architectural  ideas,  half  religious,  half  feudal,  simple  yet  state- 
ly —  the  charming  conceits  and  bold  fancies  of  poetry  and  the 
spirit  of  olden  romance,  revealed  in  towers  and  turrets,  arches 
and  windows,  gables  and  chimney  tops. 

The  entrance  hall  at  Abbotsford  is  not  very  large,  but  is 
beautiful,  and    tastefully  hung  with  armor,  antlers,  weapons, 
and  interesting  relics  from  many  lands.     But  after  the  guide 
12 


134  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

pointed  to  a  glass  case,  which  contained  the  suii  of  clothes  last 
worn  by  Sir  Walter,  I  saw  nothing  l^eside  in  tliis  apartment. 
These  brought  the  picture  of  the  grand  old  man,  worn  down 
and  broken  before  liis  time,  with  wondrous  vividness  before 
me.  I  could  see  him  as  he  tottered  about  his  grounds,  or  sat 
in  the  shade  of  some  favorite  tree,  with  his  faithful  WiUie 
Laidlaw  —  the  great  soul  light  in  his  eye  dimmed  with  deep- 
ening mists,  and  his  gigantic  genius  shrunken  into  a  babe's 
bounded  and  bewildered  capacity.  I  could  see  on  his  worn 
brow  the  troubled  struggle  of  memory  and  tiiought,  in  his 
eyes  the  faint  momentary  gleaming  of  the  old  inspiration ; 
but  by  the  sweet,  mournful  smile  of  his  wan  lips,  I  could  see 
—  ah !  nothing  more,  for  the  real  tears  which  rained  from  my 
«yes  seemed  to  hide  the  unreal  picture  of  my  fancy. 

In  the  beautiful  little  study  in  which  the  great  novelist 
wrote  many  of  his  works,  I  felt  the  air  surcharged  with  the 
living  magnetism  of  his  genius.  So  near  he  seemed,  so 
strangely  recent  his  presence,  so  inevitable  his  speedy  return, 
my  mind  grew  bewildered,  and  my  heart  beat  hurriedly  and 
half  expectantly.  My  very  senses  obeyed  the  strong  illusion 
of  my  excited  imagination.  I  looked  towai'ds  the  door  by 
which  he  used  to  enter.  I  listened,  and  spoke  low.  I  dared 
not  approach  his  writing  table  and  sit  in  his  chair,  for  fear  he 
might  surprise  me  when  he  should  come  in.  But  O,  how  soon 
passed  over  my  heart  the  chill  returning  wave  of  recollection, 
of  reason !  Gone,  gone  forever  —  dust,  dust  these  twenty 
years ! 

The  library,  drawing  and  dining  rooms,  are  very  elegant 
apartments,  commanding  some  charming  Views.  There  are 
several  fine  pictures,  by  foreign  artists,  collected  by  Sir  Wal- 
ter ;  but  of  more  interest  to  me  were  the  family  portraits. 
Of  these  there  are  two  of  the  poet,  taken  in  his  early  boyhood, 
wonderfully  like  those  painted  in  his  manhood  and  old  age. 
There  is  a  handsome  full-len<]5th  likeness  of  the  last  Sir  Walter,  - 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  135 

and  several  portraits  of  his  sister  Mi-s.  Lockliart,  whose  son 
is  the  present  master  of  Abbotsford.  Of  all  the  weapons  cu- 
rious and  memorable  in  the  armory,  of  all  the  valuable  relics, 
I  was  most  moved  by  the  sight  of  the  pistols  of  Napoleon, 
Rob  Roy's  gun,  and  the  sword  of  Montrose. 

The  wet  state  of  the  grass  preventing  our  wandering  about 
the  grounds,  we  were  obliged  to  return  much  sooner  than  we 
would  have  chosen  to  Melrose. 

Melrose  Abbey  we  were  disappointed  to  find  in  the  midst 
of  the  little  town,  not  far  from  the  railway  station ;  but  we 
soon  forgot  this  unromantic  circumstance  when  we  found  our- 
selves wandering  under  its  grand  pillared  arches.  It  is  a  lofty, 
extensive  ruin,  retaining  much  of  tjie  architectural  splendor 
and  sculptural  beauty  of  its  time  of  pride.  Glorious  as  it  was 
to  us,  seen  under  a  dull  sky,  I  could  not  conceive  of  any  thing 
more  majestic,  more  religiously  beautiful,  than  "  fair  Melrose," 
viewed  "  by  the  pale  moonlight." . 

From  Melrose  we  drove  to  Dryburgh,  where  the  sun  made 
ample  amends  for  all  shortcomings,  by  beaming  upon  us  in 
mellow,  golden  brightness.  Dryburgh  Abbey  lies  off  the  pub- 
lic road,  within  a  nobleman's  park,  deeply  imbosomed  in  noble 
trees,  among  which  are  some  of  the  grandest  old  yews  I  have 
ever  seen.  It  must  have  been  an  imposing  structure  once,  of 
great  size,  and  rare  architectural  beauty ;  but  it  is  now  a  com- 
plete ruin  —  broken  every  where,  desolated,  and  ivy-grown  — 
the  most  mournful,  lonely,  and  solemn  place  I  ever  beheld. 
Yet  is  the  spot  lovely  with  a  calm,  still,  religious  loveliness. 
The  deep  silence  here  is  not  drear  and  awful,  but  reverential, 
prayerful ;  the  loneliness  is  not  sad  or  oppressive ;  you  feei 
that  the  present  familiar  world  is  only  shut  out  that  the  far, 
strange  past  may  be  brought  near ;  and  that  the  presence  of 
Ilim  who  is  "  from  everlasting  to  everlasting  "  may  be  moi'e 
d(3eply  felt. 

O,  of  all  places  in  the  wide  world,  this  surely  is  the  one 


136  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

most  meet  for  the  last  long  rest  of  a  poet,  who,  in  the  midsi 
of  his  glory,  had  suffered  and  sorrowed  deeply.  As  I  stood 
by  the  tomb  of  Scott,  I  felt  that  it  was  well  that  he  should 
slumber  there,  where  the  moss  and  ivy  creep  over  the  moul- 
dering wall,  and  the  winds  sigh  through  the  broken  arches  and 
sweep  down  the  desolate  aisles.  Had  he  died  in  his  happy 
and  glorious  days,  in  all  the  vigor  and  splendor  of  his  powers, 
I  would  have  said.  Let  him  lie  in  a  gorgeous  mausoleum  in 
some  stately  minster,  in  the  heart  of  a  great  town.  But  he 
shrank  wearily  away  from  the  world  in  his  last  days  ;  so  should 
his  grave  be  lonely.  With  his  noble  intellect  in  ruins,  and  the 
shadow  of  deep  sorrow  on  his  spirit,  he  fell  asleep.  So  should 
he  rest  amono;  the  ruins  where  the  ancient  shadows  lie. 

At  Melrose  my  friend  Mr.  N was  obliged  to  leave  us, 

and  from  thence  Miss   N and   myself  pursued  our  way 

towards  London  in  the  interesting  character  of  "  unprotected 
females."  We  spent  the  first  night  at  Newcastle  upon  Tyne. 
On  entering  the  town,  in  the  evening,  I  had  been  much  struck 
by  a  brief  view  of  a  sombre  old  castle,  which  towered  over 
the  railway,  —  built,  the  guard  told  us,  in  the  time  of  William 
the  Conqueror,  —  and  immediately  after  supper,  as  the  night 
was  clear,  I  proposed  to  my  friend  a  visit  to  an  object  of  so 
much  interest.  The  distance  was  trifling,  and  our  kind  land- 
lady gave  us  very  careful  directions  ;  yet  as  the  streets  were 
crooked,  and  not  very  brilliantly  lighted,  we  were  obliged  to 
arrest  several  errand  girls  in  mid  career,  and  press  them  into 
our  service,  as  guides,  before  we  attained  to  the  lonely  dark 
square,  surrounding  on  three  sides  the  massive  and  venerjible 
old  stronghold.  Under  a  pale,  uncertain  moonlight,  in  that 
shadowy  spot,  the  effect  was  awfully  grand.  The  lieight  of 
the  great  tower  seemed  stupendous  —  certainly  not  less  thac 
five  hundred  feet. 

After  this  bit  of  romance  and  grandeur  hunting,  we  took  a 
fancy  to  see  something  of  the  better  and  business  part  of  the 


A    TOLR    IN    EUROPE.  137 

town.  For  this  purpose  we  captured  a  small  boy,  and  were 
by  him  safely  piloted  down  swift  Saturday-night  tides,  and 
amid  cross  currents  of  hurrying  people,  through  several  hand- 
some streets,  and  past  innumerable  tempting  shops.  Our  os- 
tensible object  was  to  obtain  a  print  of  the  old  castle  whose 
black  shadows  yet  haunted  us. 

On  the  following  day,  as  we  were  leaving  at  a  very  early 
hour  for  York,  we  were  astonished,  and  a  little  taken  aback, 
to  find  that  the  morning  light  had  battered  down  that  mighty 
tower  to  about  a  third  of  the  altitude  which  had  so  imposed 
upon  us  under  the  wan,  weird  light  of  a  misty  moon. 

Immediately  on  breakfasting  at  York,  we  went  up  to  the  min- 
ster to  attend  morning  service.  At  first  I  was  awed  and  bewil- 
dered by  the  vast  height  and  extent,  the  unimagined  grandeur, 
of  this  edifice  this  "  mountain  of  architecture,"  and  felt  glad  to 
solace  my  oppressed  senses  within  the  beautiful  choir,  listening 
to  the  divine  music  of  the  organ  and  the  chant.  The  other 
ceremonials  of  the  service  were  trifling  to  me,  the  discourse 
which  followed  nothing.  I  had  no  patience  with  the  man  for 
his  weak  sermonizing.  It  seemed  to  me  an  impertinence,  a 
piece  of  unpardonable  presumption,  for  any  man  to  preach  in 
this  solemn,  majestic  temple,  fit  alone  for  music  and  prayer. 

After  service,  we  long  wandered  through  and  around  the 
minster,  striving  to  familiarize  ourselves  to  its  exceedins:  gran- 
deur.  O  for  a  mastery  of  vivid  thought,  for  a  wealth  of  pic- 
turing words,  that  I  might  give  a  clear  idea  of  the  greatness 
and  magnificence  of  this  wondrous  structure !  But  a  stray 
bird,  fluttering  bewildered  among  its  gigantic  columns  and 
richly-wrought  arches,  were  scarcely  less  capable  of  repeat- 
ing the  organ  notes  swelling  there,  than  I  of  worthily  painting 
the  inner  or  outer  glories  of  its  architecture. 

As  the  day  was  beautiful,  my  friend  and  I  took  a  long  walk 
ou  the  old  wall  of  the  city,  and  an  outside  survey  of  the  castle, 
12* 


138  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

the  most  ancient  portion  of  which  is  so  fearfully  memorable 
as  the  scene  of  the  self-destruction  of  thousands  of  be- 
sieged and  persecuted  Jews  in  the  dark  days  of  old.  After 
visiting  the  ruins  of  St.  Mary's  Abbey,  we  returned  to  the 
minster  for  afternoon  service.  This  time  we  did  not  enter  the 
choir,  but  remained  in  the  nave,  wandering  slowly  through  the 
aisles,  under  the  glory  of  the  stained  windows,  leaning  against 
the  pillars,  and  letting  the  full  flood  of  organ  music  and  swell- 
ing anthem  sweep  over  our  souls,  as  it  surged  along  the  vaulted 
roof  and  rolled  down  the  columned  distances.  Music,  archi- 
tecture, and  coloi'ing  seemed  to  me  a  beautiful  one-souled 
trinity  there,  so  that  the  sound  of  the  first  w^ould  give  one 
blind  a  true  ideal  vision  of  the  unseen  splendors  around  him ; 
and  the  sight  of  the  two  last  triumph  over  the  sealed  sense 
of  the  deaf,  and  translate  melody  by  beauty.  It  seemed,  that, 
could  that  grand  organ  harmony  and  that  glorious  singing  take 
silent  shape,  and  pass  into  visible  beauty,  —  such  majestic,  lofty 
forms,  and  such  radiant,  religious  coloring  ihey  would  wear, — 
or  could  those  soft  splendors  and  rich  glooms  fade  suddenly 
from  sight  into  such  mellow  seraphic  sti-ains,  they  would  melt ; 
or  if  those  solemn  arches  and  towering  columns  could  dis 
solve  into  sound,  in  billows  of  such  sublime  music  as  rolled 
from  that  grand  organ,  tliey  would  pour  themselves  away. 

Nowhere  is  the  sense  of  antiquity  so  impressive  as  in  an  old 
minster  like  this.  As  I  gazed  abound  me,  I  thought  of  the 
royal  splendor,  the  mjignificent  array,  of  the  beautiful  Phil- 
lippa's  marriage  procession,  which  once  swept  over  where  I 
now  stood,  and  of  the  warlike  pomp  of  the  third  Richard's 
coronation,  wheii  there  was  a  silken  surge  of  banners  under 
these  arches,  and  the  clang  of  armor  and  tramp  of  mailed  feet 
resounded  through  these  aisles.  I  thought  how  generation 
after  generation  had  wondered  and  worshipped  here — how 
many  centuries  of  suns  had  been  glorified  in  those  gorgeous 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  139 

window?  — tlirougb  what  countless  days  had  the  full-volumed 
swell  of  holy  sound  been  here  succeeded  by  awestruck  silence 
—  the  ebb  and  flow  of  melodious  adoration  —  and  how,  while 
generation  after  generation  of  men  had  been  swept  from  the 
earth,  kingdoms  wasted,  dynasties  destroyed,  religions  over- 
turned —  this  grand  type  of  human  aspiration  towards  the  vast- 
ness  and  majesty  of  the  divine  life  has  endured,  in  almost  its 
first  sacredness  and  solemnity  —  a  monument  of  ancient  faith, 
a  towered  worship,  God's  praise  in  pillared  stone. 

I  have  been  living  very  quietly,  for  the  two  weeks  past,  in 
one  of  the  most  pleasant  suburbs  of  London.  Yet  I  fear  the 
beautiful  home  life  which  has  made  my  deepest  happiness  in 
health,  and  my  sweetest  consolation  in  illness,  while  here,  is  a 
poor  preparation  for  the  strange,  excitable,  restless  life  of  the 
continent. 

One  day  lately  we  spent  at  Hampton  Court  —  that  famous 
old  palace  of  Wolsey.  It  was  considered  a  structure  of  more 
than  royal  magnificence  in  the  time  of  the  haughty  prelate, 
but  to  modern  taste  is  neither  truly  grand  nor  highly  pictu- 
resque. It  is  a  dingy,,  red  brick,  rambling  edifice,  or  rather  a 
congregation  of  quaint  edifices.  The  grand  hall  is  gorgeously 
beautiful,  and  among  the  multitudes  of  pictures  are  many  which 
it  is  a  rare  delight  to  behold.  The  cartoons  of  Raphael  are 
here,  and  Vandyke's  equestrian  picture  of  the  first  Charles  — 
the  grandest  portrait  in  the  world.  Here  are  the  famous  court 
beauties  of  Charles  II.,  by  Lely  and  Verelst ;  pictures  too 
well  known  through  prints,  and  the  charming  descriptions  of 
Mrs.  Jameson,  for  me  to  undertake  to  reproduce  by  my  very 
imperfect  sketching.  Through  all  those  royally  appointed 
apartments  and  lofty  galleries  there  are  countless  heart-stir- 
ring pictures  of  those  whose  lives  have  been  woven  in  threads 
of  silver  brightness,  or  guilty  blackness,  or  tragical  blood  red- 
ness, into  the  splendid  woof  of  English  history.     The  grounds 


140  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS. 

about  Hampton  Court  and  the  park  are  the  most  glorious 
enclosures  I  have  seen  in  England.  A  view  or  a  walk  down 
the  great  chestnut  avenue  would  repay  one  for  a  pilgrimage ; 
and  all  the  old  trees  of  the  immense  demesne  are  more  regal- 
ly beautiful  than  one  can  conceive.  They  seem  conscious  of 
•heir  royal  estate  —  crowned  with  the  glory  and  majesty  of 


CHAPTER   VIT. 

Pa&is.  —  The  Louvre.  —  The  Madeleine.  —  Place  de  la  Concordb, 
—  Chapel  of  St.  Ferdinand.  —  Neuilly.  —  Hotel  des  Inva- 
LiDES —  Tomb  of  Napoleon.  —  Notre  Dame.  —  Pere  La  Chaise.  — 
Versailles.  —  Avignon.  —  Papal  Palace.  —  Inquisition.  —  Pont 
DE  Gard.  —  Vaucluse.  —  Marseilles.  —  Voyage  to  Genoa.  — 
Genoa.  —  Cornice    Road.  —  Pisa.  —  Voyage  from    Leghorn   to 

CiviTA  Vecchia.  —  Rome.  —  The    Coliseum The   Catacombs.  — 

Tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella.  —  Appian  Way.  —  Baths  op  Caracal- 
la.  —  Columbaria.  —  Capitol.  —  Via  Sacra. 

Paris,  October  22. 

We  left  London  on  the  morning  of  the  20th  for  Paris,  via 
Folkstone  and  Boulogne.  The  day  was  remarkably  fine,  and 
the  long-dreaded  channel  proved  as  smooth  and  tranquil  as  a 
sheltered  inland  lake.  Boulogne  is  an  unpicturesque  town, 
backed  by  a  flat,  uninteresting  country.  The  only  distinctiv^e- 
ly  national  sights  at  the  landing  were  the  numbers  of  fierce- 
looking  little  soldiers,  in  ugly  blue  coats,  and  uglier  pointed 
hats ;  and  of  peasant  women  performing  the  work  of  porters 
—  bravely  shouldering  heavy  luggage,  and  carrying  it  on  shore 
in  triumph,  to  the  evident  admiration  of  their  lazier  halves. 

The  examination  of  our  passports  at  Boulogne  was  a  light 
affair,  as  was  the  examination  of  our  luggage  at  Paris,  where 
we  arrived  by  rail,  at  about  1 1  o'clock,  P.  M. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  21st  we  all  walked  to  the 
Louvre,  where  we  spent  nearly  the  whole  of  the  day.  After 
all  I  had  heard  of  this  magnificent  palace,  I  was  astonished 
by  its  vastness  and  splendor.  Its  architecture,  while  elaborate 
and  royally  gorgeous,  is  by  no  means  wanting  in  imposing 

(141) 


142  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

grandeur.  Some  of  our  party  enjoyed  most  the  -galleries  of 
sculpture  ;  but  I  revelled  amono;  the  pictures.  Think  what  it 
was  to  wander  through  miles  of  glorious  paintings  and  immor- 
tal statuary  !  Raphael  and  Murillo  received  here,  as  else 
wliere,  my  highest  homage  —  but  I  was  much  impressed  by 
the  works  of  David.  Their  style  is  distinctively  French, 
but  sublimated  French,  In  his  pictures,  Napoleon  always  ap- 
pears the  triumphant  genius  of  glory,  or  the  imperial  soul  wl 
majestic  power  —  in  action,  a  hero  —  in  repose,  a  god. 

After  leaving  the  Louvre,  we  drove  to  the  Church  of  La 
Madeleine,  a  wondrously  beautiful  edifice,  in  the  pure  Greek 
style.  It  has  little  of  religious  solemnity  in  its  outward  gran- 
deur or  inward  magnificence  ;  but,  as  a  triumphal  temple  of 
art,  it  is  the  glory  of  modern  France.  It  contains  some  fine 
paintings  and  noble  sculpture. 

As  I  stood  on  the  steps  of  this  church,  and  looked  down  to 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  marked  by  its  towering  Egyptian 
obelisk,  my  soul  staggered  under  the  awful  thought  that  these 
peaceful  streets  and  that  quiet  square  were  once  one  vast  sur- 
ging, raging  sea  of  human  ferocity  —  that  near  where  tlie  two 
ornamented  fountains  are  playing  in  the  pleasant  sunshine, 
stood  the  guillotine,  spouting  blood !  —  tliat  there  had  mad 
yells,  and  brutal  howls,  and  low  murmurs  of  infernal  satisfac- 
tion hailed  alike  the  murder  of  Louis,  Marie  Antoinette,  the 
Princess  Elizabeth,  Charlotte  Corday,  and  the  just  punish- 
ment of  Danton,  Robespierre,  and  their  fiendish  crew. 

After  leaving  the  Madeleine,  we  took  a  delightful  survey  of 
the  noble  palace  and  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  and  a  drive 
through  the  Boulevards,  which  surpass  in  gay  and  animated 
beauty  all  I  had  imagined. 

We  v/ere  content  with  an  outside  survey  of  the  gloomy 
prison  of  the  Conciergerie,  which  frowns  with  dark  memories 
and  the  guilt  of  countless  unexpiated  crimes. 

Yesterday  we  began  a  golden  day,  by  driving,  in  the  glory 


CASTLE  HALL. 


A   TOUK   IN    EUKOPfi.  143 

of  a  lovely  morning,  through  the  Champs  Elys^es,  past  Napo- 
leon's magnificent  Arc  de  Triomphe  de  I'Etoile,  to  the  beau- 
tiful Chapel  of  St.  Ferdinand,  erected  upon  the  scene  of  the 
death  of  the  late  Duke  of  Orleans.  This  contains  an  aUar 
to  the  Virgin,  over  which  is  a  fine  group  of  Mary  and  the 
child  Jesus,  and  beyond  which  is  a  Descent  from  the  Cross,  bj 
Triquetti.  On  the  left  is  an  altar  dedicated  to  St*  Ferdinand, 
and  opposite  is  a  noble  and  touching  statue  of  the  dying 
Prince,  with  a  lovely  angel  figure,  sculptured  by  the  Princess 
Marie,  at  his  head,  supporting  him,  and  commending  bis  soul 
to  Heaven.  Behind  the  central  altar  is  a  picture  represent- 
ing the  scene  of  his  death,  with  bis  family  and  friends  about 
him.  The  grief  in  the  bowed  figure  of  the  poor  mother,  hid- 
ing her  face  in  the  cushions  by  his  side,  is  alone  deeply 
affecting.  In  front  oi'  the  chapel  is  a  building,  containing 
several  apartments  draped  in  black,  for  the  accommodation  of 
the  royal  family  on  their  visits  to  the  mournful  spot  which  was 
the  scene  of  an  event  fatal  to  their  fortunes,  if  not  to  those  of 
France. 

The  room  we  entered  contained  two  motionless  clocks,  cased 
in  black  marble,  one  marking  the  hour  and  the  moment  at 
which  the  Duke  was  thrown  from  bis  carriage  —  the  other, 
those  at  which  he  died.  A  touching  idea,  though  peculiarly 
French. 

From  the  scene  of  the  Duke's  death,  we  passed  naturally, 
as  though  following  up  the  disasters  of  his  doomed  family,  to 
the  ruins  of  the  Palace  of  Neuilly,  one  of  the  mc^t  melan- 
choly of  sights.  This  favorite  summer  residence  of  Louia 
Phihppe  had  evidently  little  of  the  royal  and  imposing  aboui 
it,  but  was  a  quiet,  lovely,  home-like  place,  sanctified  by  much 
of  domestic  happiness,  purity,  and  simplicity  of  life  —  so  is 
its  destruction,  its  desolation,  the  more  touching  to  behold. 
The  objects  of  most  interest  in  the  grounds  are  a  monument 
erected  on  the  spot  where  a  cannon  bail,  fired  from  the   Boia 


144:  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

de  Boulogne,  fell  at  the  feet  of  Louis  Philippe  in  1830,  and 
wherc  a  lew  days  after  the  ci'own  of  France  was  offered  him ; 
the  tomb  of  Diana  of  Poitiers  j  and  the  garden  of  the  young 
Comte  de  Paris. 

From  Neuilly  we  drove  through  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  to 
the  Champs  de  Mars,  on  which  grand  parade  ground  we  were 
so  fortunate  as  to  witness  a  line  lisplay  of  cavalry  and  flying 
artillery.  From  the  sight  of  ah  the  animated  pomp  of  mimic 
war  we  went  to  the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  to  behold  what  real 
war  makes  of  men,  in  the  maimed,  crippled,  and  scarred 
soldiers  of  the  empire.  But  these  brave  old  fighters  have  a 
noble  retreat  for  their  declining  years,  and  seem  hale,  hearty, 
and  happy,  as  they  sit  and  talk  together  on  the  terrace  in  the 
genial  sunshine,  stroll  through  the  fine  arcades,  or  reverently 
kneel  in  the  chapel. 

In  the  council  chamber  of  the  hotel  we  saw  a  noble  bust 
of  Napoleon  le  Grand,  by  Bosio,  and  one  doubly  ignoble  by 
comparison  of  Napoleon  le  Petit,  by  Emile  Thomas.  Oppo- 
site these  hangs  the  magnificent  portrait  of  Napoleon,  in  his 
coronation  robes.  Our  guide,  who  w'as  an  old  soldier,  and  a 
devout  worshipper  of  the  immortal  Corsican,  spoke  of  Louis 
Napoleon,  as  his  "  future  Emperor,  "  with  apparent  pleasure, 
almost  enthusiasm.  By  the  way,  the  Prince  President  dis- 
plays most  strikingly  his  keen  and  worldly  wisdom,  in  repair- 
ing and  adding  to  the  palaces  and  churches  of  Paris,  and  vig- 
orously carrying  on  all  pop  liar  public  works  —  thus,  while 
improving  and  beautifying  the  city,  employing  thousands  ot 
workmen  and  artists,  who  are,  of  course,  kept  out  of  all  mis- 
chief. There  is  nothing  so  good  as  bread  to  stop  the  mouths 
of  the  politically  disaffected ;  and  the  true  secret  of  this 
Napoleon's  popularity,  next  to  that  sublimity  of  impudence 
which  takes  the  French  like  an  astounding  coup  de  theatre^ 
lies  in  the  encouragement  of  labor,  and  the  security  to  trade, 
given   by  liis   government  —  that  i:?,  himself.     But  to  return 


A   TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  145 

f»i  the  large  and  handsome  library  founded  by  Napoleon,  we 
saw  the  famous  picture  of  the  Emperor  crossing  Mount  St. 
Bernard,  by  David,  I  believe,  in  which  he  is  very  sublimely 
represented  as  dashing  up  an  awful  steep  on  a  fiery,  rearing 
jteed,  in  a  magnificent  costume,  and  a  most  dramatic  attitude 
—  a  painting  full  of  eclat^  but  in  true  grandeur  falling  far  be- 
hind the  real  picture  of  the  real  Napoleon,  in  his  g''ay  surtout, 
Ljuietly  ascending  the  mountain  pass  on  a  mule,  led  by  an 
Alpine  guide. 

We  were  allowed  to  enter  the  dome,  where  the  nation  is 
paying  almost  divine  honors  to  the  ashes  of  the  Emperor,  by 
Skiving  him  one  of  the  grandest  burial-places  and  monuments 
which  glory  and  poetry  could  devise,  and  art,  power,  and 
ivealth  could  execute.  It  is  not  alone  a  gorgeous  temple  for  the 
munificent  offerings  of  the  nation  to  the  manes  of  her  dead 
glory,  but  a  vast  chapclle  expiatoire  for  the  world  who  im- 
piously rebelled  against,  and  finally  rejected,  his  Majesty  of 
majesties.  "When  this  tomb,  with  all  its  grand  surroundings, 
shall  be  finished,  in  most  imperial  splendor  and  triumphal 
pomp  will  he  rest  who  died  in  hopeless  exile,  and  reposed  foi 
Bo  many  years  "  on  a  lone,  barren  rock,"  in  the  far  sea,s. 

Here,  for  the  resounding  beat  of  waves  on  that  drear  shore, 
will  be  the  billowy  swell  and  majestic  roll  of  grand  organ 
music ;  and  for  the  wild  wailing  of  the  ocean  winds,  the 
mighty  sorrow  and  solemn  supplication  of  countless  masses 
said  for  the  repose  of  his  soul. 

From  the  Hotel  des  Invalides  we  went  to  the  Luxembourg, 
a  noble  and  beautiful  palace,  though  far  smaller  than  the 
Louvre.  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  it.  Imagine  an  edifice 
very  magnificent  and  princely  outwardly  —  very  grand,  lofty, 
and  uncomfortable,  inwardly.  I  thought  the  Salle  des  Seances 
far  surpassing  in  beauty  and  dignity  the  English  Chamber  of 
Peers ;  and  some  of  the  modern  French  pictures  in  the 
gallery  are,  to  my  apprehension,  finer  than  many  by  the  old 

la 


146  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

masters  in  the  Louvre.     I  was  especially  delighted  with  one 
or  two  bj  Paul  Delaroche. 

From  the  Luxembourg  to  Notre  Dame,  which  interiorly 
scarcely  answered  my  expectations.  Its  whiteness  and  light- 
ness, on  that  brilHant  day,  took  much  from  its  vastness  and 
grandeur.  Yet  it  is  a  noble  old  cathedral,  and  little  needs  the 
added  grace  of  countless  glorious  associations  —  chief  among 
which  must  live  forever  the  coronation  of  Napoleon  and 
Josephine. 

From  Notre  Dame  to  the  Hotel  de  C'lur/?/,  a  picturesque  uld 
mansion,  built  on  the  spot,  or  near  the  spot,  where  once  stood 
the  palace  of  the  Emperor  Julian,  and  of  some  of  the  earliest 
kings  of  Gaul.  There  are  yet  to  be  seen  some  curious  Roman 
aqueducts,  dungeons,  and  subterranean  passages.  The  house 
itself  now  contains  an  immense  and  choice  collection  of  an- 
tiquities, curious  manuscripts,  mirrors,  pictures,  statuary,  carv 
ing,  cabinets,  miniatures,  china  furniture  —  all  imaginable 
interestinof  and  beautiful  relics.  There  is  one  ma"rnificent  in 
laid  cabinet,  once  belonging  to  Louis  XIV.,  which,  opening, 
displays  some  exquisite  paintings  on  ivory,  which  modern  art 
could  not  excel;  and  there  are  innumerable  objects  of  historic 
or  romantic  interest,  making  the  shadowy  old  chateau  altogether 
one  of  the  most  charming  sights  of  Paris. 

October  94. 

Yesterday  being  very  stormy,  I  could  only  spend  a  short 
time  at  the  Louvre,  and  visit  the  manufactory  of  the  Gobelin 
Tapestry,  where  I  was  astonished  and  delighted  by  rarely  beau- 
tiful specimens  of  this  splendid  fabric,  and  by  observing  the 
wondrous  art,  care,  and  patience   by  which  they  are  produced. 

To-day  we  have  visited  Pere  la  Chaise,  taken  a  stroll  in  the 
gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  and  attended  service  at  the  Made- 
leine. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  for  the  cemetery ;  the  air  li;>.i  the 
soft,  golden  sunniness  of  Indian  summer,  and  a  sw'»e'   kouiL 


A    TOUR    IN    EUKOPE.  147 

wind  was  wooing,  rather  than  tearing,  the  withered  leaves  from 
the  trees  along  our  paths.  Beautiful  emblems  of  death,  they 
fluttered  down  in  showers  of  crimson,  and  gold,  and  bronze, 
upon  chapel  and  tomb,  and  draped  the  humblest  grave  with  a 
gorgeous  pall.  Pere  la  Chaise,  though  more  crowded,  and 
with  less  natural  beauty,  than  some  of  our  cemeteries,  is  a 
cheerful  and  lovely  city  of  the  dead,  and  has  a  glory  and  a 
sacredness  which  none  of  ours  yet  possess,  from  enshrining 
the  ashes,  the  all  that  could  die,  of  many  whose  memories  live 
in  immortalities  of  love,  and  power,  and  sorrow,  beating  on 
forever  in  the  life  currents  of  the  heart  of  the  world. 

I  thought,  "  O  Death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  "  where  are 
thy  terrors,  thy  gloom,  and  thy  loneliness  ?  when  marking 
over  countless  tombs,  beautiful  little  chapels,  and  ornamented 
shrines,  lovely,  secluded,  holy  places,  where  glieving  friends 
may  come  for  meditation,  prayer,  and  sweet  remembering  — 
or  gaze  down  long  pleasant  flowery  vistas  of  graves,  hallowed 
with  gleaming  crosses,  and  hung  with  votive  wreaths. 

The  French  certainly  do  not,  like  too  many  among  us, 
thrust  their  dead  away  into  the  earth,  and  thenceforth  avoid 
the  spot,  as  though  pestilences  were  exhaling  from  the  grave 
turf  At  almost  every  tomb  you  see  flowery  evidences  of  fre- 
quent and  recent  visitation.  It  is  true  that  this  sometimes 
looks  more  like  the  expression  of  a  sentimental  than  a  deep 
sorrow ;  and  doubtless  the  rich  often  drop  in  at  these  elegant 
httle  chapels,  and  leave  votive  wreaths,  very  much  as  they 
would  make  a  round  of  fashionable  calls,  and  leave  cards  al 
the  doors  of  their  acquaintances. 

The  first  tomb  to  which  we  were  conducted  was  that  of 
Abelard  and  Heloise.  Tliis  is  a  large,  imposing  monument  — 
a  small  chapel,  in  the  Saxon  style,  beautifully  sculptured, 
built  over  the  original  sarcophagus  of  the  immortal  lovers, 
surmounted  by  their  recumbent  statues.  Their  flgures  have 
a  dignified,  sorrow^ful  grace,  and  their  faces  a  mournful  beauty. 


148  .  HArS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

which  would  touch  and  trouble  one  to  whom  their  history 
were  unknown.  It  is  little  consolation,  to  one  remembering 
tlie  long  agony  of  their  severed  lives,  to  read  on  this  tomb 
that  here,  in  death,  they  are  reunited  —  to  know  that  the 
eyes  forbidden  to  look  devotion  and  tenderness,  and  con- 
demned to  watching  and  tears,  are  here  quenched  in  the  same 
darkness  —  that  the  love-warm  lips,  once  torn  asunder,  now 
meet,  "  dust  to  dust "  — -  that  the  ardent  and  faithful  hearts, 
which  bled  apart  with  one  anguish,  now  mingle  "  ashes  to 
ashes." 

It  was  with  a  shock  of  strange  emotion  that  I  found  myself 
standing  by  the  unmarked  grave  of  Marshal  Ney.  A  shiver 
ran  through  my  frame,  and  my  heart  seemed  for  the  moment 
motionless  with  sorrowful  awe.  There  is  here  no  monument, 
no  chapel,  no  cross — only  a  railing  and  a  few  flowers  about 
the  grave.  There  was  one  crimson  rose  beside  it,  which  I 
could  but  dream  had  drawn  its  deep  coloring  from  his  rich 
heroic  blood. 

At  almost  every  step  we  came  upon  the  resting-place  of  a 
great  novelist  or  poet,  a  warrior,  a  philosopher,  an  orator,  or 
a  grand  tragedian :  Balzac,  Moliere,  La  Fontaine,  Madame 
Cottin.  De  Genlis,  Bernardin  St.  Pierre,  Delavin  ;  St.  Cyr, 
Macdonald,  Suchet,  Junot,  Gobert ;  Laplace,  Sicard,  Constant ; 
De  Seze,  Manuel,  Foy ;  Mars,  Duchesnois,  Talma.  The 
tomb  of  Bellini  is  also  here,  and  those  of  several  other  cele- 
brated composers. 

As  though  strongly  to  contrast  the  shadowy  solemnity  and 
religious  quiet  of  death  with  all  the  brightness,  flush,  and 
glory  of  life,  we  di*ove  from  Pere  la  Chaise  to  the  gardens  of 
the  Tuileries,  where  we  strolled  for  nearly  an  hour.  I  never 
beheld,  nor  do  I  believe  the  world  could  furnish,  a  more 
charming  and  splendid  sight.  Tiie  sunshine,  though  brilliant, 
was  deliciously  mellow  —  it  was  molten  beauty,  and  giory,  and 
joy.     It  did  not  seem  to  oour  down  upon  you,  but  to  float 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  149 

around  you,  and  flow  over  you,  on  the  softly-undulating  waves 
of  air.  Then  there  were  fountains  in  play,  innumerable  flow- 
ers in  bloom,  and  trees  in  all  the  gorgeousness  of  their  autum- 
nal foilage.  The  promenaders  were  many,  forming  gay, 
varied,  picturesque,  and  peculiarly  Parisian  groups.  There 
were  ladies,  surpassingly  tasteful  in  dress  and  graceful  in  car- 
riage :  elegant  gentlemen,  with  the  blackest  of  mustaches 
beautiful  children,  with  their  bonnes  ;  students,  with  a  charac 
teristic  jauntiness  in  the  pose  of  their  hats,  with  a  dash  of 
recklessness  in  the  tie  of  their  cravats,  and  a  general  disregard 
of  conventionalisms  in  the  color  of  their  waistcoats  and  the 
plaid  of  their  pantaloons;  grisettes,  with  nicely-fitting  polka 
jackets,  snow-white  collars,  and  the  most  coquettish  little  caps 
imaginable. 

There  can  be  few  finer  views  in  the  world  than  the  one 
from  the  front  of  the  palace,  down  the  central  avenue,  to  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde  and  L'Arc  de  Triomphe. 

As  I  stood  there,  gazing,  I  thought  what  a  sharp  pang  of 
anguish  must  have  shot  through  the  heart  of  poor  Marie  An- 
toinette, as  from  the  ignominious  cart  of  the  condemned,  or 
the  scaffold  of  execution,  she  looked  over  the  vile  crowd  of 
her  murderers,  to  the  scene  of  her  former  pleasures  and 
splendors. 

October  27, 

Yesterday  we  spent  in  the  palace  and  gardens  of  Versailles 
I  feel  it  as  a  relief  that  I  am  near  the  last  hour  of  my  last  day 
in  Paris,  and  thus  may  be  excused  from  any  attempt  at  de- 
scribing the  matchless  beauties  of  architecture,  glories  of  art, 
and  unapproachable  splendors  of  that  royal  wonder  of  the 
world.  I  found  that  history,  romance,  and  poetry  had  given 
me  but  a  faint  and  partial  idea  of  the  vast  extent,  the  dazzlinjj 
gorgeousness  ana  magnificence,  of  this  place.  The  picture 
galleries  are  storehouses  of  the  treasures  of  centuries,  wheiHi 
every  glorious  scene  in  the  history  of  France  or  the  lives  of 
13* 


150  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

her  monarchs  and  heroes  is  before  you,  and  every  face  famoua 
or  infamous  in  her  annals  looks  down  upon  you.  I  had  in- 
tense pleasure  in  thus  reading  the  splendid  military  and  im- 
perial career  of  Napoleon.  But  by  far  the  grandest  historical 
pictures  are  those  of  a  later  era,  by  Horace  Vernet,  who  with 
his  wondrous  genius  has  thrown  a  splendor  around  even  the 
war  in  Algiers  and  the  taking  of  Rome. 

A  relief  and  a  rest,  after  tlie  bewilderino;  richness  of  the 
palace  and  the  gardens,  was  a  visit  to  La  Petit  Trianon,  the 
favoi-ite  retreat  of  Marie  Antoinette.  There  is  a  mournful 
loveliness,  a  touching  quietude,  about  this  little  palace  and  its 
grounds,  especially  at  this  season  of  the  year,  strangely  in  con- 
sonance with  memories  of  its  beautiful  and  fated  mistress. 
There  is,  near  the  borders  of  a  beautiful  lake,  a  weeping  wil- 
low,  planted  by  her  own  hand,  —  most  fitting  and  faithful  me- 
morial, —  and  in  a  retired  and  lovely  spot,  you  come  upon  the 
exquisite  little  hamlet,  a  charming  fancy  of  the  young  queen, 
where  the  royal  family  often  amused  themselves  by  playing 
villagers.  Marie  Antoinette  was  a  milkmaid,  and  nothing 
could  be  more  beautiful  than  her  laiterie. 

Genoa,  November  6. 

Thus  far  towards  the  seven-hilled  city  of  pilgrimages  — 
thus  far  in  safety  and  ever-improving  health.  I  seem  to  drink 
in  healing  with  every  breath  of  this  balmy  southern  air  —  to 
receive  strength  from  the  beautiful  earth  I  tread,  and  hope 
from  the  delicious  skies  above  me.  I  be^in  to  feel  a  glad  con- 
fidence  that  the  first  great  object  of  my  tour  is  to  be  fully 
attained,  and  that,  under  the  beneficent  influences  of  this  genial 
climate,  I  shall  gain  vigor  of  body  and  elasticity  of  spirit  — 
shall  renew  my  life,  and  my  joy  in  life. 

The  journey  from  Paris  to  Avignon  was  not  one  of  much 
interest.  The  scenery  during  the  latter  part  was  very  fine, 
but  the  rainy  weather  prevented  our  seeing  it  to  advantage. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  151 

Our  first  stopping-place  was  Chalons,  on  the  Saont,  a  pleas- 
antly situated,  queer  and  quaint  town,  as  old  as  Julius  Caesar. 
From  Chalons  we  took  a  narrow,  dirty  little  steamer  for 
Lyons,  which  we  reached  at  night  and  left  in  tlie  morning, 
so  had  no  time  to  see  the  famous  cathedral  and  its  more 
famous  clock.  At  Lyons  we  took  the  Rhone,  on  a  yet  nar- 
rower and  dirtier  steamer,  for  Avignon,  stopping  a  night  at 
Valente,  a  picturesque  old  town,  where  Napoleon  once  studied. 
The  scenery  along  the  Rhone,  as  you  approach  Avignon,  is 
exceedingly  beautiful,  and  the  foliage  at  this  time  was  both 
soft  and  gorgeous  in  coloring.  All  along,  the  gold,  crimson, 
and  bronze  tints  of  autumn  were  minoled  with  the  briurhtest 
and  loveliest  living  green. 

Avignon,  though  a  densely  populated,  busy  town,  with  some 
handsome  modern  buildings  and  bridges,  has  a  quaint,  gloomy, 
and  peculiar  aspect.  The  noisome  shadows  of  Popish  tyr- 
anny, superstition,  and  persecution  seem  thrown  upon  it  yet 
from  the  old  Papal  palace  and  the  prisons  of  the  Inquisition. 
Remembering  well  the  vivid  and  powerful  description  given 
by  Dickens,  in  his  charming  Pictures  from  Italy,  we 
visited  these  places,  but  found  them  completely  transformed 
into  barracks  and  store  rooms,  scarcely  a  trace  of  their  origi- 
nal state  and  purpose  remaining.  Yet  there  was,  in  the  very 
atmosphere  of  the  dim,  cavernous  hall  where  the  Inquisition 
sat  to  examine,  deliberate,  and  condemn,  and  in  that  of  the 
chamber  of  torture,  something  that  sent  a  cold  horror  chilling 
along  my  veins  and  creeping  through  my  very  bones.  The 
tower  in  which  Rienzi  was  imprisoned  is  yet  standing,  but  in 
ruins  —  in  truth,  the  whole  palace  has  an  air  of  dreary  decay 
and  abhorrent  abandonment.  Thank  God  for  the  token  !  I  could 
but  commiserate  the  soldiers  who  swarmed  in  these  gloomy 
barracks.  However  stupid  and  unimaginative  they  look,  it 
seems  that  in  stormy  nights  they  must  fancy  they  hear  the  in- 
numerable victims  "  of  the  bloody  faith  "  shrieking  under  those 


152  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

blackened  arches  —  the  prayer,  the  sob,  the  vain  appeal  for 
mercy,  th«  crack  of  bones  upon  the  wheel,  the  "  sharp,  short 
cry  down  oubliettes." 

After  the  chill,  foggy  afternoon  in  which  we  beheld  this 
gloomiest  of  all  sights,  we  had  at  Avignon  two  of  the  most 
glorious  days  imaginable.  On  the  first  of  these  we  took  a 
carria<]:e  and  drove  to  the  Pont  de  Gard,  a  bridge  built  along 
the  side  of  an  old  Roman  aqueduct  —  a  work  stupendous  in 
height  and  strength,  but  marvellously  light,  graceful,  and  airy 
in  its  effect.  The  scenery  about  this  noble  work  has  a  peculiar 
character  of  quiet,  lonely  beauty,  and  bears  the  look  of  having 
been  ever  deserted  since  its  grand  conquerors  and  warlike 
masters  departed.  On  this  excursion  we  first  saw  olives,  figs, 
and  the  rich  pomegranate,  bursting  with  its  crimson  ripeness. 
The  second  day  we  visited  the  fountain  and  romantic  haunts 
of  Vaucluse,  the  picturesque  home  of  Fetrarch.  This  is  the 
most  peculiar,  lonely,  lovely,  wild,  melancholy  place  you  could 
dream  of  in  a  stormy  midsummer  night.  Nothing  can  sur- 
pass the  beauty  of  the  fountain  itself,  which  gushes  brightly 
and  bountifully  from  the  base  of  a  bare  and  rugged  mountain, 
and  pours  over  black  rocks  in  innumerable  fairy  cascades. 
The  waters,  which  are  of  a  living,  luminous  green,  seemed 
just  out  for  a  special  holiday.  I  could  not  realize  that  they 
always  gleamed  so  brightly  and  sung  so  merrily  in  that  soli- 
tary place.  The  waves  seemed  deliriously  glad  to  escape  from 
their  prison,  beneath  the  cold,  dark  hills,  and  leaped,  and 
laughed,  and  shouted,  and  danced  in  the  pleasant  sunshine, 
and  ran  in  and  out  of  the  green  shadows  of  the  shore,  like 
frolicsome  children  just  broken  away  from  the  dull  tasks  and 
stern  dominion  of  school.  The  house  and  garden,  which 
tradition  assigns  to  the  divine  sonneteer,  are  yet  in  existence, 
but  in  a  dismal  state  of  dilapidation  and  dirt.  The  poet 
pilgrim  to  this  shrine  of  genius  must  pass  through  perils  in- 
describable, and   encounter   smells  unimaginable,  ere  he  can 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  153 

hope  to  pluck  a  sprig  from  the  old  laurel  tree  said  to  have 
been  planted  by  the  great  poet  lover. 

In  the  evening  we  ran. down  to  Marsei^es  by  the  railway. 
Our  party  filling  a  carriage,  with  the  exception  of  one  seat, 
we  amused  ourselves,  as  we  approached  Marseilles,  by  manu- 
facturing another  passenger  out  of  our  extra  wraps.  Stuffing 
an  overcoat  with  shawls  and  umbrellas,  we  fashioned  a  portly 
little  gentleman,  whom  we  made  to  recline  in  a  corner,  grasp- 
ing a  walking  stick,  and  with  his  face  shaded  by  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat.  When  the  ticket  master  came,  we  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  our  foolish  little  joke  succeed  beyond 
our  proudest  hopes.  After  receiving  and  counting  our  tickets, 
he  looked  hard  at  the  quiet  little  gentleman,  and  said,  rather 
impatiently,  "  Monsieur^  voire  billet.''^  "  11  dort,  Monsieur,^' 
said  one  of  us.  So,  without  further  ceremony,  he  seized  the 
oblivious  traveller  by  the  arm,  and  shook  him  into  shawls, 
overcoats,  and  umbrellas,  amid  uncontrollable  bursts  of  lauo-h- 
ter  on  our  part.  The  official  looked  a  little  dark  and  suspi- 
cious at  first,  and  made  a  long  and  careful  post  mortem  exam- 
ination of  the  departed ;  but,  finding  that  he  was  composed  of 
no  contraband  articles,  graciously  joined  in  the  laugh,  only 
protesting  that  somebody  must  pay  for  "  le  petit  Ifonsieur.' 

Marseilles  I  saw  very  little  ot,  as  I  was  busily  engaged,  for 
the  few  hours  I  spent  there,  in  writing  private  letters,  and 
only  walked  out  as  far  as  the  post  office.  But  I  believe  I 
missed  not  much,  as  there  are  few  sights  in  that  city  more 
interesting  than  those  a  stranger  can  have  in  driving  or  walk- 
ing through  its  busy  and  noisy  streets.  I  left  France,  after 
all,  with  regret ;  for  I  like  the  people  —  the  common  people, 
1  mean,  for  I  had  relations  with  no  other.  Careless,  unreli- 
able, cunning,  extortionous,  unscrupulous,  ignorant,  and  dirty, 
as  most  of  them  are,  yet  I  like  them ;  first,  for  their  inimit- 
able, unweariable  politeness ;  and,  next,  for  their  gayety,  their 
sparkling  vivacity,  their  quick  wit,  their  nonsense,  their  very 


154  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

ridiculousness  Truth  with  them  is  a  myth,  a  jest,  an  obso- 
lete idea ;  but  the  lies  they  tell  you  are  generally  of  the  most 
flattering  kind  —  agreeable  delusions,  for  which  you  feel 
rather  obliged  tlian  otherwise ;  and  they  will  impose  upon  you 
with  such  an  air  that  you  really  are  ashamed  to  show  proper 
resentment. 

We  were  obliged  to  take  passage  to  Genoa  on  a  crowded 
and  disagreeable  English  steamer;  but  as  the  sea  was  quite 
calm,  and  the  night  strikingly  beautiful,  we  were  happily  able 
to  remain  on  deck  till  very  late.  I  was  at  length  driven  by 
the  heavy  dews  into  that  den  of  gregarious  discomfort,  "  the 
ladies'  cabin,"  wdiere  my  fervent  adjurations  to  the  god  of 
slumber  were  for  a  long  time  baffled  by  the  closeness  of  the 
air,  and  the  garrulousness  of  two  worthy  English  dames,  who 
were  entertaining  each  other  with  marvellous  tales  of  success- 
ful and  unsuccessful  smuggling.  One  had  had  an  Irish  poplin 
torn  from  the  sanctuary  of  the  "  bustle  "  itself,  by  order  of"  a 
nasty  French  officer  of  the  customs ; "  while  the  other  had 
once  borne  off  in  triumph  to  England  twelve  yards  of  "the 
loveliest  Brussels  lace  "  in  the  hem  of  her  petticoat.  From 
this  they  passed  to  subjects  more  i)u  rely  domestic,  —  gover- 
nesses, footmen,  cooks,  —  and*the  last  words  which  fell  on  my 
drowsy  ear  were  "  gooseberry  tart "  and  "  raspberry  jam." 

The  joyfully-welcomed  morning  came  at  last,  and  we  had  a 
chaiining  day,  often  passing  very  near  the  bold  and  beautiful 
shore  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  saw  the  sun  set  at  sea  in  a 
glory  unapproachable  by  art,  inexpressible  by  language.  It 
was  night  ere  we  reached  Genoa ;  so  we  lost  the  sea  view  of 
its  noble  bay.  Yet  the  "  superb "  city  was  a  glorious  sight, 
seen  even  in  the  obscurity  of  the  deepening  twilight,  as  it  rose, 
pile  on  pile  of  marble  palaces,  tier  on  tier  of  gleaming  lights. 
We  were  soon  able  to  go  on  shore,  where  we  were  little  de- 
jiyed  at  the  custom  house,  on  account  of  our  passports  or 
luggage.     We  are  stopping  at  the  Locanda  d' Italia,  a  fine 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  155 

hotel,  which  once  was  a  palace,  they  say,  where  we  have  a  suit 
of  pleasant  rooms  in  somewhere  about  the  twelfth  story,  and 
are  very  well  attended,  and  served  bountifully  with  excellent 
food. 

Rome,  J^ovember  13. 
Genoa  is  to  me,  in  recollection,  like  a  gorgeous  dream  of 
grand  palaces,  old  churches,  splendid  and  strange  —  narrow 
streets,  leading  up  steep  acclivities,  and  down  into  dark  hol- 
lows, lined  with  towering  houses,  whose  outside  walls  are 
painted  more  brilliantly  and  variously  than  interiors  elsewhere 
—  with  animated  and  striking  groups  of  picturesque  people  — 
pale  women,  with  shining  black  hair,  and  long  white  scarfs 
gracefully  disposed  about  their  heads,  and  falling  in  light  folds 
over  neck,  arms,  and  bosom,  walking  every  where  about  the 
crowded,  dirty  streets,  as  though  through  carpeted  drawing 
rooms,  with  a  regal  yet  unconscious  elegance  —  men,  with 
rich  olive  complexions  and  glossy  black  beards,  wearing  caps 
of  brilliant  red,  or  brown,  or  purple,  and  talking  and  gesticu- 
lating on  the  most  trifling  topic,  with  niarvellous  waste  of 
passionate  energy  and  dramatic  effect  —  children,  limbed  like 
sculptured  Loves,  with  luxuriant  hair,  brown  or  raven,  and 
cheeks  round,  and  red,  and  goldened,  like  ripe  peaches  —  and 
all  these  speaking  in  a  language  wonderfully  melodious  and 
impressive,  and  looking  out  of  large,  deep,  lustrous,  yet  mel- 
ancholy eyes.  There  is  to  me  a  peculiarly  sad  and  touching 
expression  in  these  grand  Italian  orbs  —  it  is  half  expectant, 
half  despairing  ;  the  look  of  souls  who  have  lost  some  great 
good,  scne  priceless  glory,  for  which  they  are  wishing,  and 
waiting,  and  searching  eternally.  You  are  struck  by  the 
nUtive  intelligence  of  these  people.  You  know  that  many  of 
them  must  be  frightfully  ignorant,  but  very  few  of  them  look 
60 ;  and  with  the  exception  of  the  guides  and  priests,  —  "  blind 
leaders  of  the  blind,"  —  none  are  positively  stupid.  Their 
great  eyes  sometimes  reveal  the  dulness  of  intellectual  torpor, 


J  56  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

but   never   incapacity.      The   cloud    is   not  dark    and    liea^^ 
enough  wholly  to  hide  the  throbbing  of  the  soul  stars  behind. 

We  spent  two  days  in  wandering  through  the  Genoese 
palaces,  churches,  gardens,  and  streets  —  two  days  of  rich, 
novel,  unmingled  pleasure.  The  palaces  themselves  are 
vast  and  noble,  rather  than  beautiful ;  but  they  are  rich  in 
fine  paintings,  especially  in  many  glorious  Vandykes.  The 
churches  are  the  most  magnificent  and  varied  in  their  dec- 
oration I  have  yet  seen  —  that  of  the  Annuncirition  almost 
blinds  one  with  its  unveiled  splendor  and  elaborate  gorgeous- 
ness.  In  the  gloomy  old  Duomo  are  kept  the  famous  relics 
of  John  the  Baptist  —  the  ashes  of  his  head,  and  one  linger 
entire.  In  the  chapel  dedicated  to  these,  no  woman  is  allowed 
to  enter  —  a  regulation  doubtless  made  in  holy  condemnation 
of  one  of  our  sex  who  excelled  in  a  frivolous  accomplishment, 
and  turned  it  to  an  unholy  account.  In  these  churches,  you 
see  at  all  hours  a  few  humble  worshippers  telling  their  beads 
and  crossing  themselves  before  the  various  shrines.  But  they 
are  seldom  so  soundly  wrapped  in  devotion  as  to  be  unmindful 
of  the  presence  of  strangers,  whom  they  curiously  follow  with 
.their  eyes,  while  their  lips  move  mechanically  in  soulless 
prayer. 

From  Genoa  to  Pisa  we  took  carriages  and  vetturini^  and 
travelled  by  the  Cornice.  The  weather  was  delicious,  and 
this  journey  of  three  days  proved  a  long  succession  of  glorious 
pictures.  I  had  not  only  never  seen,  I  had  never  conceived^ 
any  thing  so  lovely  and  grand.  Our  road  now  lay  along  the 
shore  of  the  blue  Mediterranean ;  now  off  in  quiet,  delicious 
valleys,  smiling  with  picturesque  cottages,  lemon  and  orange 
groves ;  now  up  and  down  mountains,  clothed  with  olives  and 
pines ;  now  over  torrents  and  along  dark  precipices ;  now 
under  long  avenues  of  poplar,  and  aspen,  and  sycamores,  fes- 
tooned with  vines,  and  past  gardens  and  hedges  of  roses  in  full 
bloom,  sweetening  the  air  with  the  very  sweetness  of  paradise. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  157 

And  then  the  sunsets  —  when  the  splendid  lig-hts  on  c^oud  and 
sea  seemed  God's  own  transcendent  glory  made  visible  to  man 
—  when  the  very  sky  seemed  to  have  descended  and  wrapped 
itself  around  the  purple  and  golden  hills  - —  when  heaven  and 
earth  seemed  embracing  in  light  and  blending  in  a  bridal  of 
beauty.  It  were  the  extremest  folly  in  me  to  attempt  to  re> 
produce  here  the  vast  and  glowing  pictures  of  that  journey  — 
to  pour  its  rich  sunlight  or  fling  its  grand  shadows  along  my 
page  — •  to  blend  its  solemn  sea  voices,  and  sad  pine  murmurs, 
and  gay  peasant  singing  with  the  sound  of  my  words,  and  to 
distil  into  my  thought  the  rare  sweetness  of  its  roses.  Yet  1 
believe  that  the  vision  of  those  mountains  and  valleys  will 
never  fade  from  my  soul  —  that  that  sunhght  Avill  stream 
through  all  my  future  life  —  that  that  music  of  wave  and  tree 
will  never  wholly  die  on  my  ear  —  that  those  roses  will  be  a 
fragrant  memory  in  my  death  chamber. 

The  disagremens  of  the  journey  —  the  impositions  of  the 
vetturini,  the  discomfort  of  inns,  and  the  persecutions    from 
beggars  —  I  have  not  dwelt  upon,  because,  having  been  en 
dured,  they  are  so  thoroughly  past,  so  nearly  forgotten. 

At  Lucca  we  visited  a  noble  old  cathedral,  and  took  t* 
pleasant  stroll  on  the  city  walls,  and  at  Pisa  we  spent  half  a 
day.  The  Leaning  Tower,  the  Cathedral,  the  Baptistry,  and 
the  Campo  Santo  form  the  most  splendid  and  interesting 
group  of  buildings  I  have  ever  seen.  "We  ascended  the  tower, 
which  certainly  leans  fearfully,  and  enjoyed  a  charming  view 
from  the  summit.  We  lingered  long  in  the  cathedral  before 
some  delicious  pictures  by  Andrea  del  Sarto,  and  wandered 
through  the  Campo  Santo,  where  there  is  some  fine  monu- 
mental sculpture. 

From  Pisa  we  went  by  railway  to  Leghorn,  which  we  found 
a  very  bustling  and  uninteresting  place.     Here,  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  11th,  we  took  the  French  mail  steamer  for  Civita 
Vecchia.     This  is   a  small,  uncomfortable  boat,  and  on  this 
U 


158  TfAPa    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

voyage  we  found  it,  to  our  dismay,  crowded  beyond  prece- 
dent.    Though  not  a  state  room  or  berth  could  be  hud,  we 

were  obliged  to  take  passage  by  hei',  as  a  friend  of  Miss  C 

would  be  awaiting  us  at  Civita  Vecchia,  to  accompany  us  to 
Rome.  The  first  hours  of  the  voyage  flew  lightly  enough  — 
the  night  was  mild  and  beautiful.  We  met  some  American 
fellow-passengers,  among  whom  was  Colonel  Marshall,  of 
Kentucky,  United  States  Minister  to  China,  and  had  a  pleas- 
ant chatty  time  on  deck  —  where,  indeed,  I  was  disposed  to 
spend  the  entire  night,  but  was  overruled  by  my  friends,  who 
thought  me  imprudent  to  the  last  degree  in  wishing  to  brave 
such  exposure.  So,  about  mi'dnight,  we  descended  into  the 
dining  cabin,  where  mattresses  had  been  spread  for  us  upon 
the  floor.  Alas!  not  for  us  alone.  The  place  was  already 
crowded  with  forlorn  travellers  —  English,  Americans,  Ger- 
mans, French,  Italians  —  priests,  soldiers,  artists,  ladies,  chil- 
dren, couriers,  and  ladies'  maids.  After  an  immense  amount 
of  talk  and  laughter,  we  all  got  settled  in  our  places,  which 
were  as  comfortable  as  circumstances  would  allow.  My  com- 
-panions  soon  fell  asleep,  overcome  by  the  weariness  of  the  day 
—  but  I  was  kept  wide  and  wild  awake  by  the  closeness  of  the 
air,  incipient  seasickness,  and  the  novelty  and  ludicrousness 
of  the  scene.  As  the  atmosphere  grew  heavier  and  hotter, 
such  a  chorus  of  snoi'ing  was  set  up  as  was  never  before  heard. 
It  was  absolutely  maddening.  Near  me  lay  a  stout  gentleman, 
who  astounded  even  more  than  he  enraged  me  by  the  power 
and  compass  of  his  nasal  organ.  By  his  side  lay  his  wif^;, 
looking  pale  and  haggard  as  from  innumerable  sleepless  nights. 
I  raised  myself  on  my  elbow,  and  contemplated  her  weaiy 
face,  her  sad,  sleepless,  wandering  eyes,  marvelling  at  her 
long  endurance,  and  feeling  an  insane  temptation  to  whisper 
to  her,  that,  should  she  at  any  time  strangle  the  unfeeling 
monster  as  he  lay,  "  making  niglit  iiideous'*  with  his  unearthly 
finore,  no  intelligent  jury  would  bring  in  a  worse  verdict  than 


A    TOUR    m    EUROPE.  159 

"justifiable  homicide."  On  my  other  side  lay  a  lad,  in  that 
unregenerate  state  which  Mrs.  Pipchin  refers  to  when  she 
solemnly  declares  that  '"  boys  that  snifHe  never  get  to  heaven." 
At  length  I  grew  almost  frantic,  and,  seizing  all  I  could  carry, 
—  my  carpetbag,  cloak,  blanket, and  pillows,  —  I  rushed  upoD 
deck.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  I  stumbled  over  a  man  — rfor 
what  fell  purpose  he  was  lurking  there,  I  did  not  then  divine. 
As  soon  as  I  could  muster  sufficient  strength  and  courage, 
after  depositing  my  Avraps  on  deck,  I  returned  for  my  mat- 
tress—  returned  to  find  the  stranger  of  the  stairway  stretched 
out  upon  it,  and  sleeping,  or  feigning  to  sleep,  profoundly. 
There  was  no  help  for  it,  and  in  a  sullen  rage  I  staggered 
again  to  the  deck;  when,  behold  !  my  blanket  and  pillows  had 
been  seized  upon  by  some  villanous  marauder  —  even  my  sac 
de  nuit  had  gone  to  some  bourn  whence  no  travelling  bag 
returns.  My  case  was  now  desperate,  and,  going  up  to  a  brig- 
andish-looking  Frenchman,  who  was  stretciied  upon  a  bench» 
near  by,  luxuriating  in  a  suspicious  superabundance  of  blankets 
and  pillows,  and  laying  my  hand  on  the  outermost  covering,  I 
said,  in  as  stern  and  relentless  a  tone  as  I  could  command, 
''''Monsieur  c'est  a  moi  ! '^  The  guilty  man  relinquished  it  at 
once,  with  a  "'  Pardon,  madame.""  I  then  made  a  requisition 
for  the  pillows,  but  could  only  recover  one  —  which,  by  the  way, 
was  not  mine,  but  a  hard  little  thing,  wet  with  night  dew, 
about  as  pleasant  to  rest  one's  head  upon  as  would  be  a  brick 
folded  in  a  cabbage  leaf:  yet  I  made  the  best  of  it  —  wrapped 
myself  stoically  in  my  blanket,  stretched  myself  on  the  deck, 
and  fell  a-stargazing.  The  sky  above  me  was  of  a  deep,  de- 
licious, soul-bewildering  blue,  thick  sown  with  radiant  orbs — • 
heaven's  canopy  of  state  over  the  queenliest  loveliness  of 
earth.  The  clouds  were  light  and  silvery,  and  assumed  a 
thousand  fair  and  fantastic  shapes.  One,  I  remember,  took 
distinctly  the  form  of  a  graceful  woman,  in  the  flowing  Greek 
costume ;  in  one  hand  she  held  a  star,  and  seemed  bending 


160  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

forward  as  though  trying  to  blow  it  out.  But  the  star'  was  too 
much  for  her,  and  she  finally  blew  herself  away  in  vain  at- 
tempts at  extinguishing  it. 

But  this  heavenly  contemplation  becomes  a  decided  bore 
when  compulsory  and  protracted.  I  was  getting  very  chili 
and  weary,  when  a  French  lad,  with  whom  I  had  a  slight  ac- 
quaintance, having  been  driven  by  cold  from  the  longboat,  where 
he  had  gone  to  sleep,  happening  to  pass  near,  recognized  me, 
and,  horrified  at  my  bedless  condition,  courageously  plunged 
into  the  depths  of  the  cabin,  on  a  marauding  expedition  for  my 
benefit.  In  about  five  minutes  he  returned,  laden  with  spoil, 
in  the  shape  of  a  mattress  and  a  large  pillow.  He  laughed 
very  merrily,  while  arranging  these  for  me,  in  tilling  how 
adroitly  he  had  obtained  them.  He  had  found  a  stout  gentle- 
man, for  wiiom  two  mattresses  had  been  spread,  sleeping  on 
the  cabin  floor,  and  had  actually  succeeded  in  roiling  him  off' 
one,  which  he  took  possession  of,  with  a  pillow,  ere  the  poor 
man  w^as  sufficiently  roused  to  resist  or  remonstrate. 

It  is  singular,  that,  though  I  had  felt  a  righteous  indignation 
ut  the  heinous  robberies  before  committed  on  me,  I  did  not 
protest  against  this  little  confiscation,  but  enjoyed  the  joke  im- 
mensely, and  my  bed  as  well,  sleeping  soundly  on  it  for  sever- 
al hours.  I  w^as  awakened  by  the  rain ;  but  as  the  sea  had 
roughened,  and  I  was  decidedly  sick,  I  did  not  go  below,  but 
wrapped  myself  more  closely  in  my  blanket,  and  "  endured 
unto  the  end."  Fortunately,  the  shower  soon  passed,  and  1 
took  not  the  sliglitest  cold. 

About  sunrise  Colonel  Marshall  came  on  deck,  and  natui*al- 
,  ly  expecting  sympatiiy  from  a  countrywoman,  lie  had  no 
sooner  cast  his  eyes  on  me  than  he  began  to  pour  into  my 
ears  the  story  of  his  own  peculiar  hardships  and  wrongs. 
Some  audacious  brigand,  he  said,  had  actually  stolen  half  of 
his  bed  and  his  best  pillow  from  under  him,  as  he  lay  in  the 
deep  unconsciousnn.^s  of  innocent  slumber.     I  declare,  that,  ir 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  161 

the  dull  gray  of  the  early  morning,  the  chilliness  of  the  late 
sliower,  the  torpor  of  subsiding  seasickness,  amid  all  the 
unspeakable  fbrlornities  of  my  state,  I  laughed  till  the  tears 
rained  down  my  face. 

After  going  through  the  mere  form  of  breakfasting  in  a 
dirty  inn  at  Civita  Vecchia,  we  set  forth  for  Rome  in  impos- 
ing state,  in  an  enormous  diligence,  with  six  horses  and  three 
postilions.  This  road  runs  through  a  bare,  uninteresting,  and 
desolate  country.  More  than  ten  miles  from  the  Eternal  City 
we  caught  a  view  of  St.  Peter's,  looming  up  like  a  small 
mountain,  and  every  heart  stood  still  at  the  sight.  It  was 
dark  ere  we  entered  Rome,  yet  we  recognized  sevei^al  grand 
landmarks  ere  we  reached  our  pleasant  house  in  the  Corso. 

JSTorEMBER    17 

Ancient  Rome,  as  yet,  affects  me  with  a  singular  gloomy 
wonder.  I  gaze  about  me  sadly  rather  than  eagerly.  I  am 
too  awestruck  to  be  curious.  We  spent  one  day  among  the 
ruins  ;  and  though  the  sunshine  was  brilliant  as  that  of  June, 
and  the  breath  of  wild  roses  was  afloat  on  the  soft  air,  that  day 
was  to  me  one  of  shadows  and  sadness.  Could  all  the  sun- 
shine that  ever  streamed  out  of  heaven  make  festal  brightness 
m  the  mighty  circle  of  the  Coliseum,  thronged,  as  it  is,  to  the 
eye  of  the  spirit,  with  dark  visions  of  fear  and  horror,  of  fierce 
fight  and  deadly  encounter,  brutal  ferocity  and  diabolical  cru- 
elty? The  blood  of  innumerable  martyrs  seems  yet  rising 
from  the  once  trampled  and  gory  arena,  a  cloud  between  us 
and  the  beautiful  skies.  What  a  terrible  power  has  a  place 
like  this  over  the  imagination  !  I  there  beheld  not  alone  the 
half-sickening,  half-intoxicating  scenes  of  ancient  gladiatorial 
combat ;  but,  as  I  stood  near  one  of  the  ruined  passages,  by 
which  the  wild  beasts,  ages  on  ages  ago,  were  driven,  mad 
with  rage  and  hunger,  from  their  black,  subterranean  dens, 
into  the  noontide  blaze  of  the  amphitheatre,  I  involunt«nly 
14* 


162  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

listened  to  hear  them  roaring  and  bounding  beneath  me.  I 
involuntarily  looked  to  see  them  leaping  into  the  arena,  with 
eyes  aflame  and  jaws  agape.  I  listened  to  hear  the  first 
shriek  of  the  Christian  victims,  and  the  mad  yells,  the  applaud- 
ing uproar,  of  the  heathen  spectators.  I  seemed  to  see  the 
tiger  burying  his  claws  deep  in  the  white  bosom  of  the  maiden, 
and  the  fierce  leopard  playing  with  the  mangled  child  ere 
devouring  it.  I  seemed  to  see  the  gray-haired  old  man  and 
the  dark-haired  youth,  after  a  vain,  brief  struggle  with  their 
terrible  foes,  rent  in  pieces  ;  and,  more  fearful  and  pitiable 
still,  fair  patrician  dames  looking  on  through  all,  with  calm, 
unblenched  faces,  and  young  peasant  maidens  clapping  their 
brown  hands,  while  the  long  thunders  of  acclamation  rolled 
round  the  vast  amphitheatre. 

Here,  as  at  the  prisons  of  the  Inquisition  at  Avignon,  I  ex 
ulted  over  the  ruin  about  me  with  joy  unspeakable.  Yet  whal 
a  melancholy  les>on  does  this  chance  couj)ling  of  these  two 
places  present !  The  one  is  the  scene  of  the  open,  cruel,  yet 
speedy  martyrdom  of  the  earliest  Christians  under  a  bloody 
pagan  power — the  other  the  scene  of  the  secret,  slow,  infer 
nally  ingenious  torture  of  Christians  by  fellow- Christians. 
Could  the  martyrs  who  suffered  here  have  foreseen  these 
things  —  have  seen  priests,  in  tlie  place  of  beasts,  rending,  and 
racking,  and  disembowelling  to  the  sound  of  pious  chants  in- 
stead of  fierce  shouts,  and  in  the  name  of  the  merciful  Jesus 
instead  of  that  of  relentless  Jove  —  could  they  have  foreseen 
those  bitterer  than  heathen  mockeries,  those  bold  blasphemies 
of  the  most  high  God,  written  by  priestly  hands  in  the  blood 
of  his  children,  —  would  they  have  met  the  maddened  beasts  of 
the  arena  with  such  superhuman  serenity,  such  sublime  faitli, 
suffered  with  such  divine  endurance,  "  triumphed  o'er  death, 
and  ascended  to  God  "  ? 

We  descended  into  the  catacombs   by   the  usual  entrance 
at  the  Church  of  San  Sebastiano.    These  subterranean  refuses 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  163 

of  the  early  Christians  are  indeed  very  melancholy,  dismal^ 
awful  places.  We  were  conducted  by  a  dirty  and  miserable 
Franciscan  friar,  looking,  in  the  coarse  brown  dress  of  his  or- 
der, as  though  he  had  burrowed  for  a  lifetime  in  those  low, 
dark  passages.  Each  of  us  bore  a  torch,  yet  never  ventured 
to  diverge  from  the  way  taken  by  our  guide,  or  to  fall  more 
than  a  yard  or  two  behind  him.  He  led  us  through  a  gloomy 
and  bewildering  labyrinth,  vault  after  vault,  passage  opening 
on  passage,  chill  chambers  of  death,  interminable  halls  of 
night,  where  our  torches  seemed  to  struggle  with  the  heavy 
air,  and  to  cast  faint-  and  fearful  gleams  into  the  profound 
depths  of  that  ancient  darkness.  He  showed  us  chapels  and 
rude  shrines,  and  every  where  sepulchres,  hollowed  from  the 
soft  rock.  Since  the  Christianization  of  Rome,  most  of  the 
bones  of  the  martyrs  who  perished  here  have  been  removed 
to  less  humble  tombs  in  the  churches.  Many  are  kept  in  costly 
cabinets  and  shrines  as  precious  and  holy  relics.  I  shall  never 
forget  a  group  of  graves  pointed  out  to  me  in  one  of  tlie  chap- 
els—  the}?  were  those  of  a  father,  mother,  and  two  children.- 
I  involunti^rily  exclaimed,  "  Merciful  Heaven  !  what  a  place 
for  children  !  "  Poor  lambs !  what  wonder  that  they  would 
not  stay  in  this  chill  and  sunless  abode,  but  soon  sought  the 
"  green  pastures  "  and  the  "  still  waters  "  of  the  good  Shep- 
herd. Perhaps,  when  they  were  first  brought  here,  they  won- 
dered and  questioned  why  the  morning  was  so  long  in  coming ; 
perhaps,  when  they  were  dying,  they  cried  piteously  for  the 
sunshine,  the  flowers,  and  the  pleasant  grass.  Perhaps  they 
died  in  utter  darkness,  and  the  mother  only  knew  when  the 
cherub  soul  had  escaped  from  its  double  prison  house,  and  as- 
cended to  the  upper  brightness,  by  feeling  the  little  body  grow 
stiff  and  cold  against  her  desolate  bosom. 

As  I  said,  these  graves  have  been  rifled,  and  the  bones  of 
the  faithful  Christians  and  the  sacred  vessels  which  held  the 
blood  of  martyrdom,  and  stood  in  little  niches  near  these  gravei 


164  HAP3    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

have  been  borne  away  to  cathedrals  and  monasteries,  while 
the  names  rudely  carved  on  these  stones  have  been  enrollea 
among  the  holiest  saints  of  the  church.  But  who  shall  collect 
and  enshrine  the  bones  lying  in  the  secret  dungeons  and 
towers  of  the  Inquisition  ?  What  bold  and  pious  hand  could 
there  have  caught  and  treasured  the  blood  which  dripped  from 
the  wheel,  or  splashed  against  the  walls  of  the  oubliettes  ? 
When  shall  the  saints,  who  there  suffered  in  secret  and  died 
jn  extremest  anguish,  receive  their  canonization  ? 

We  drove  past  that  proud  tomb  which  has  lifted  the  single 
name  of  a  woman,  amid  the  storms  of  centuries,  above  the 
destruction  of  empires  and  the  convulsions  of  a  thousand 
wars.  Little  could  Cecilia  Metella  have  dreamed  that  the  in- 
scription on  the  tomb,  raised  by  "  love,  or  pride,"  above  her 
dust,  would  stand  out  clear  wlien  the  language  in  which  it  was 
written  had  been  silenced  over  the  whole  face  of  the  earth  — 
that  the  tomb  itself  would  remain  unlevelled,  almost  unbroken, 
when  Rome  had  been  long  bowed  in  ruin  —  when  the  smiling 
country  about  her  had  become  a  wild  waste  —  when  her  race 
had  sunken  away  out  of  all  remembrance  of  the  glory  and  power 
which  once  dazzled  and  ruled  the  world. 

We  also  drove  along  the  tomb-bordered  Appian  Way,  where 
some  recent  excavations  let  us  down  several  feet,  on  to  the 
very  stones  over  which  the  chariots  of  Roman  conquerors  once 
rolled,  and  the  troops  of  the  empire  and  the  consulate  often 
swept,  in  all  the  splendid  pomp  and  insolent  pride  of  victory 
Thick,  on  either  side,  stood  broken  and  mouldering  tombs,  and 
the  black,  tottering  walls  of  houses  —  every  where  dead  deso- 
lation and  decay.  Looking  off  to  the  left,  the  eye  grew  weary 
in  following  miles  on  miles  of  ruined  aqueducts.  Amid  the 
destruction  around,  you  wonder  to  see  so  much  of  these  grand 
works  yet  standing,  and  you  almost  expect  to  see  them  go 
down  before  your  sigiit,  arch  after  arch. 

The  grotto  over  the  fountain  of  Egeria  is  an  interesting  bit 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROI'IC.  185 

of  ruin,  though  stripped  of  its  rich  marbles,  and  every  way 
dilapidated.  Of  the  Temple  of  Bacchus  there  remains  enough 
to  suggest  a  faint  vision  of  pillared  and  sculptured  beauty. 
But  what  a  wilderness  of  ruin  are  the  Baths  of  Caracalla ! 
The  longer  you  wander  among  these  stupendous  remains,  the 
more  you  are  amazed  by  the  conceptions  they  give  one  of  the 
beauty  and  grandeur  of  those  vast  temples  of  pleasure,  in 
which  the  Romans  revelled  like  gods,  and  in  whose  voluptuous 
atmosphere,  Rome's  destruction  ripened. 

The  lofty  dome  of  the  Pantheon  opens  towards  heaven  in 
almost  its  first  grandeur,  defying  the  devastations  of  time. 
Its  beautiful  pavement  seems  yet  little  worn  by  the  tread  of 
unnumbered  generations,  and  the  majestic  pillars  of  its  portico 
bear  up  grandly  under  the  weight  of  more  than  eighteen 
centuries.  The  attempt  to  Christianize  the  Pantheon  and  like 
places  in  Rome,  by  the  introduction  of  altars  and  snrines, 
glaring  pictures  and  bedizened  statues  of  saints,  has,  in  my 
opinion,  signally  failed.  Their  character  remains  sternly  and 
obstinately  pagan.  The  ghosts  of  the  dead  deities  flit  around 
them  still.  They  are  forever  haunted  by  the  sensuous,  volup- 
tuous, imperious,  magnificent  old  Roman  spirit.  Amid  the 
stern  simplicity  of  these  sublime  ruins,  the  taste  involuntarily 
resents  the  accessories  and  parades  of  the  theatrical  Catholic 
worship,  as  it  might  some  monstrous  anachronism  in  poetry  or 
art.  Even  the  crosses  and  shrines  in  the  Coliseum  seem  but 
pious  impertinences  and  the  arrogant  triumphing  of  a  new 
faith ;  and  I  own  that  I  find  it  impossible  to  see  the  diminutive 
soldiers  and  effeminate  priests  of  to-day  in  the  Forum,  or  the 
ruined  temples  of  the  old  heroes  and  divinities,  without  a  desire 
to  have  them  swept  away,  and  their  places  filled  by  stalwart 
followers  of  Mars  and  manly  worshippers  of  Jove. 

Among  the  most  inti- resting  antiquities  of  Rome  are  the 
Columbaria,  on  the  Appian  Way.  ,  These  subterranean  tombs 
are  so  called  from  their  consisting  of  tier  on  tier  of  niches, 


166  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

like  pigeon  holes,  where  the  ashes  of  the  dead  are  stered  — 
some  in  classic  urns,  but  most  in  round  earthen  receptacles, 
with  covers,  very  like  preserve  pots  or  pickle  jars.  You  can 
thrust  your  hand  into  almost  any  one  of  these,  and  bring  it  up 
full  of  the  ashes  and  bony  fragments  of  somebody,  or  some- 
thing. In  these  economical,  gregarious  sepulchres  were  de- 
posited all  that  stood  fire  of  the  slaves  and  inferior  otficers  of 
the  imperial  and  princely  houses.  Over  every  niche  is  an 
inscription,  and  beside  many  of  the  urns  and  jars  a  lamp  and 
a  small  vessel  for  containing  wine. 

The  grandest  view  I  have  yet  had  of  the  city  and  surround- 
ing country  was  from  the  tower  of  the  Capitol.  There  it  lay 
beneath  me,  in  one  vast,  magnificent  circle.  Rome  !  Rome  ! 
the  fact  that  I  am  indeed  in  its  midst,  which  seems  to  come  to 
and  pass  from  my  mind  in  a  sort  of  ebb  and  flow  of  realiza- 
tion, broke  upon  me  then  ahnost  overpoweringly. 

No  more  the  dream,  the  longing  — 

The  pilgrim  strays  at  last 
Amid  thy  haunted  temples, 

Thou  city  of  the  past, 
Whose  eagles  once  made  darkness 

Where'er  their  wings  unfurled  — 
Whose  seven  hills  propped  a  glory 

That  domed  the  ancient  world. 

I  wrote  these  lines  some  time  last  year  for  another,  little 
dreaming  what  a  few  months  would  bring  forth  for  me.  Al- 
most prophetic  they  seemed  when  I  stood  on  that  high  tower, 
and  looked  down  on  those  seven  hills,  on  the  yellow  Tiber, 
on  the  Tarpeian  Rock,  on  the  Pantheon,  the  Coliseum,  ihe 
noble  tirches  of  Constantine,  Titus,  and  Septimius  Severus  — 
on  the  beautiful  ruins  of  the  temples  about  the  Forum,  and  the 
dark  mass  of  crumbling  masonry,  of  undistinguishable  frag- 
ments of  columns,  arches,  and  vaults,  called,  as  though  in 
Hitter  mockery  of  greatness,  the  Palace  of  the  Caisars.     With 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  167 

these  mingled,  yet  forever  distinct,  was  modem  Ronie,  headed 
by  tliat  consecrated  wonder  and  splendor  of  the  world,  St. 
Peter's.  Out  beyond  the  city  walls  our  eager  gaze  was 
directed  to  plains,  and  mountains,  and  ancient  places,  whose 
names  were  familiar  as  school-house  words  —  Latium,  Etruria, 
the  Camp  of  Hannibal,  the  Sabine  Hills,  the  Alban  Mount, 
Frascati,  Tusculum,  and,  far  away  over  the  desolate  campagna, 
Tivoli.  But  I  soon  turned  from  the  distant  to  the  near,  and 
looked  long  and  thoughtfully  down  upon  the  Forum  and  the 
Coliseum,  once  the  point  of  the  highest  architectural  splendor 
the  world  could  boast.  Soon  from  those  glorious  fragments 
and  colossal  intimations  my  mind  grasped  large  conceptions  of 
Rome's  proudest  times.  The  broken  arches  of  the  Coliseum 
seemed  to  fill  out  again,  and  the  vast  amphitheatre  to  enclose 
its  shouting  thousands.  The  fallen  and  buried  columns  about 
the  Forum  arose  from  the  dust,  and  ranged  themselves  in 
their  old  accustomed  places.  Priests  and  vestals  ministered  at 
sculptured  altars,  to  which  the  long-banished  deities  had  de- 
scended.    The  warlike  brothers  sat  curbing  their  fierce  steeds 

—  Vesta  in  her  white  purity,  and  Minerva  in  the  calm  majesty 
of  wi'sdora,  stood  again  before  their  w^orshippers,  and  Jupiter 
sat  sublime  in  his  ancient  temple. 

And  the  host  of  the  historical  recollections  of  Rome,  —  the 
memories  of  battles,  and  triumphs,  and  sieges,  and  revolutions, 

—  how  they  stormed  upon  tlie  heart !  Scenes  in.  the  victori- 
ous, disastrous,  splendid,  and  guilty  reigns  of  her  emperors, 
the  countless  tumults  and  insurrections  of  her  republics,  seem- 
ed to  pass  before  me.  I  saw  the  Forum  now  surging  with  an 
assembled  populace,  excited  to  frenzy  by  the  words  of  some 
powerful  orator,  now  brilliant  with  some  sacred  festival,  now 
gorgeous  with  the  triumphal  course  of  an  army  returned  from 
foreign  conquests,  the  victorious  leader  standing,  laurel 
crowned,  in  his  chariot,  followed  by  captives  in  chains,  and 
slaves    bearing    spoil  ;    and  now    I  beheld  it   overrun    with 


168  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS. 

barbarian  hordes,  slaying,  pillaging,  and  destroying,  till  the 
night  closed  in  blood  and  flame. 

Over  that  Via  Sacra,  how  many  of  those  whom  the  world 
counts  among  her  immortals  have  walked !  —  Horace,  and 
Virgil,  and  Cicero,  and  Catullus,  and  Brutus,  and  Ca?.sar,  and 
Mark  Antony,  and  Cato,  and  Coriolanus,  and,  it  may  be, 
Peter  and  Paul. 

The  "chaste  Lucretia"  must  have  trod  those  stones,  and 
Brutus's  heroic  Portia,  the  "  noble  Volumnia,"  the  high-souled 
Cornelia,  and  the  hapless  Virginia.  The  stem  Virginius 
passed  here  daily,  and  near  by  he  struck  down  a  base  tyrant 
through  the  tender  heart  of  his  child  —  surely  the  grandest 
sacrifice  to  freedom  and  virtue  in  the  annals  of  time. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

St.  Peter's.  —  Statues.  —  Sistine  Chapel.  —  High  Mass.  —  Thb 
Pope. — Aspect  of  the. City. — Op  the  People.  —  Peasants.— 
Beggars.  —  Soldiers.  —  Priests.  — "Works  op  Art.  — The  Apol- 
lo. —  The  Dying  Gladiator.  —  The  Cenci.  —  Villa  Borghese. 
—  TrvoLi.  —  Ascent  of  St.  Peter's. — The  Coliseum  by  Moon- 
light. —  The  English  Bury^ing  Ground Graves  of  Keats  and 

Shelley.  —  A  Religious  Procession.  —  Alrano.  —  A  Ride  on  thb 
Campagna. 

j^ovember  29. 

The  outside  view  of  St.  Peter's  disappointed  me,  as  it  does 
almost  every  one  ;  the  great  number  and  enormous  size  of  the 
columns  which  compose  the  grand  colonnade  in  front,  and  the 
admirable  proportions  of  the  building  itself,  having  to  the  eye 
a  strangely  diminishing  effect.  But  the  first  full  view  of  the 
interior  struck  a  glorious  picture  upon  my  mind,  which  all  the 
waves  of  time  can  never  wash  away  —  which,  it  seems  to  me, 
even  the  light  of  the  unsetting  sun  of  eternity  cannot  fade. 
That  moment  is  stamped  into  my  soul  with  those  in  which  I 
first  beheld  Niagara  and  the  Coliseum. 

St.  Peter's  is  not  alone  grand,  beautiful,  and  vast  —  it  is 
absolutely  sublime  ;  you  feel  awestruck,  utterly  overwhelmed, 
by  its  immensity,  its  incomparable  stupendousness.  Were  it 
not  for  the  general  harmony  of  style  and  just  proportion,  it 
would  seem  not  a  single  gigantic  structure,  but  a  mass  of  con- 
gregated and  consecrated  buildings,  all  constituting  a  vast  ac- 
cumulation of  the  splendors  of  art  and  the  wonders  of  archi- 
tecture —  the  piled  offerings  of  the  pride  and  piety  of  many 
ages  and  nations,  the  mighty  type  and  temple  of  a  world's 
worship,  towering  towards  God. 

15  (i^y^ 


170  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

It  were  far  from  impossible  for  good  Protestants  to  feel  de- 
votional at  St.  Peter's  ;  for  though  lighter  and  less  gorgeous 
than  most  Catholic  cathedrals,  its  stillness  and  vastness  are 
profoundly  impressive,  and  among  its  countless  shrines,  statues, 
and  pictures,  there  are  comparatively  few  objects  offensive  to 
our  tiiste,  understanding,  and  common  sense.  My  eye  was 
most  revolted  by  the  stiff  bronze  figure  of  St.  Peter,  sittinsj 
bolt  upright,  key  in  hand  and  foot  extended,  to  receive  the 
pious  homage  of  the  people.  This  miserable  production  has 
long  been  the  particular  object  of  popular  worship  —  the  lip 
service  of  millions  of  the  devout  has  repeatedly  worn  away 
the  solid  metal,  and  tlie  lioly  saint  has  been  at  least  thrice  re- 
toed.  The  best  of  the  joke  to  a  heretic  is,  that  it  is  not  St. 
Peter  at  all,  but  an  old  and  very  ugly  statue  of  Jove,  en- 
haloed,  and  simply  grasping  a  key  instead  of  a  bolt. 

The  works  of  Bernini  and  his  disciples,  marked  as  they 
nearly  all  are  by  the  wild  extravagance  and  boisterous  strength 
with  which  this  master  seemed  to  boil  over  —  bushy-headed 
saints,  who  look  as  though  they  had  just  alighted  from  riding 
on  a  whirlwind  and  directing  a  storm  —  angels  in  such  a  state 
of  dishevelled  discomposure,  with  their  drapery  in  such  a 
crazy  flutter  of  breezy  folds,  and  their  very  wing  feathers 
so  on  end,  you  could  almost  believe  them  just  escaped 
from  some  celestial  insane  asylum  —  these  are  simply  de- 
testable. 

There  are  here  a  few  monumental  works  by  Thorwaldsen 
and  Canova,  which  go  far  to  make  you  forget  these  sculptured 
abominations.  Many  figures,  originally  fine,  are  utterly  spoiled 
by  an  atrocious  addition  of  drapery,  consisting  of  sheets  of  tin, 
painted  in  vile  imitation  of  marble.  The  modesty  of  Holy 
Mother  Church  has  evidently  had  an  alarming  outbreak  of 
late  years,  in  the  direction  of  art.  Scarce  a  gleam  of  a  saintly 
leg  or  an  angelic  bosom  is  now  permitted  to  sliock  the  pure 
eyes  of  the  devout ;  but  figures  poetic  and  allegorical  —  muses, 


A    TOUK    IN    EUROPE.  17l 

seraphs,  and  the  larger-sized  cherubs  —  are  hencefortli  tc 
be  muffled  up  and  wound  about  in  this  ungraceful  and  uncom. 
fortable  manner.  "  Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense"  O  saintly 
nuns  and  holy  fathers  ! 

It  is  really  a  great  and  memorable  tiling  to  stand  under  the 
grand  dome  and  look  up,  up,  to  the  far  shining  of  the  pictured 
glory  and  mystery  of  the  Godhead.  The  splendor  of  those 
wondrous  mosaics,  and  all  the  elaborate  beauty  of  the  sur- 
rounding ornaments,  seem  to  strike  down  upon  you,  and  daz- 
zle you  like  the  sun  at  noonday. 

Just  as  we  were  leaving,  after  that  first  visit,  the  sound  of 
an  organ  came  from  one  of  the  chapels  nearest  the  altar,  and 
rolled  down  the  magnificent  nave,  rounded,  solemn,  and  sweet. 
The  melodious  flood  seemed  to  swell  about  us,  sensibly,  almost 
visibly  —  to  lift  us  off  our  feet  and  bear  us  forth. 

Since  seeing  St.  Peter's,  all  other  churches  seem  to  have 
sunken  away  out  of  sight.  I  never  go  to  any  other,  except 
to  hear  fine  music,  see  some  particular  work  of  art,  or  witness 
some  imposing  ceremony.  Yesterday  we  saw  the  Pope  per- 
form high  mass  at  the  Sistine  chapel  in  the  Vatican.  Plere 
the  music  was  grand,  and  the  ceremonies  very  magnificent, 
though  somewhat  meaningless  to  a  heretic.  Into  that  portion 
of  the  chapel  where  we  sat  no  spectators  are  admitted,  un- 
less dressed  entirely  in  black.  The  ladies  must  wear  black 
veils  thrown  over  their  heads,  without  bonnets  ;  and  for  gen- 
tlemen, a  dress  coat  is  as  indispensable  as  at  the  opera.  A 
gilded  open-work  screen  separates  this  part  from  that  in  which 
are  the  altar  and  papal  throne.  When  we  entered,  the  Pope 
was  seated  on  the  latter,  under  the  canopy  of  purple  and  gold, 
in  his  resplendent  sacerdotal  robes,  with  his  towering  mitre  on 
his  head,  and  with  his  red-robed  cardinals  about  him.  The 
blaze  of  silver  and  gold  at  the  illuminated  altar,  breaking 
through  wreathing  clouds  of  incense  —  the  frescoed  roof  and 
walls,  where  the   gigantic  genius  of  Michael   Angelo   standi* 


]72  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

forth  supernal  in  majesty  and  power  —  the  magnificent  coV 
tume  of  tlie  cardinals,  bishops,  and  other  liigh-church  dignita- 
ries—  the  striking  antique  costume  of  the  Swiss  guards,  the 
gleam  of  their  helmets  and  halberds  — all  constituted  a  scene 
peculiar  and  splendid,  if  not  to  us  religiously  impressive. 

In  Rome,  the  "  sacred  elements  "  are  removed  from  church 
to  church,  and  chapel  to  chapel,  every  forty-eight  hours. 
This  was  the  occasion  of  their  being  removed  from  the  Sis- 
tine  to  the  Pauline  chapel,  which  is  also  in  the  Vatican. 

The  Pope  did  not  otiiciate  constantly  at  the  altar,  but  sat 
most  of  the  time  on  his  throne ;  and  whenever  he  rose  to  take 
part  personally  in  the  ceremonies,  whenever  his  soft-toned 
voice  was  heard  in  prayer,  or  his  paternal  hands  extended  in 
benediction,  all  the  faithful  dropped  on  their  knees,  the  Swiss 
guard  going  down  with  a  resounding  clang  of  arms. 

At  length  the  procession  formed.  A  small  canopy  of  white 
silk  and  silver,  very  like  the  state  umbrella  of  a  Chinese  man- 
darin, was  held  over  the  head  of  His  Holiness,  and  with  car- 
dinals, bishops,  and  guards,  before,  around,  and  behind  him, 
he  walked  from  the  altar  to  the  first  door  of  the  cliapel,  where 
a  larger  canopy  of  white  silk  and  silver  received  him,  and  was 
borne  over  him  the  remainder  of  the  way  to  the  Pauline 
chapel.  I  had  a  very  near  view  of  the  sovereign  Pontiff,  as 
he  passed  slowly  forth,  praying  audibly  and  apparently  ear- 
nestly, and  also  as  he  returned,  in  less  state  and  at  a  much  less 
solemn  pace.  I  Hke  the  papal  countenance  ;  it  may  be  want- 
ing in  strength,  but  it  is  beautiful  in  shape  and  feature,  and 
remarkably  gentle  and  meek  in  expression. 

The  Pope  is  rather  stout,  yet  by  no  means  gross  —  he  looks 
healthful,  but  a  little  indolent. 

In  strong  contrast  to  him  was  Cardinal  Antinelli,  the  real 
force  and  brain  of  the  present  government,  who  walked  a  lit 
tie  in  advance  of  His  Holiness,  and  showed  for  what  he  is  — 
a   proud,   subtle,   ambitious,    unscrupulous    spirit.       His    lips 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  173 

moved  mechanically,  but  little  prayed  his  dark,  restless,  sinis- 
ter eyes. 

We  afterwards  visited  the  chapel  in  which  the  sacrament 
had  been  deposited  with  such  pomp  and  circumstance,  and 
found  it  as  brilliant  as  rich  marbles,  gold,  and  silver,  and  wax 
lights  innumerable  could  make  it. 

From  thence  we  drove  to  the  Catacombs,  the  dark  subter- 
ranean source  of  that  mighty  spiritual  despotism  which  has 
subverted  empires  and  exterminated  religions,  but  whose 
power  and  glory  have  declined,  and  are  declining  fixst,  and 
whose  sanctity  has  become  an  idle  fable,  at  which,  openly  or 
secretly,  the  world  laughs. 

Modern  Rome  is  the  most  singular  melange  of  the  grand 
and  poor,  of  splendor  and  squalor,  imaginable.  The  streets 
are  narrow  and  dirty,  but  many  of  them  lined  by  towering 
old  palaces,  and  leading  into  noble  piazzas.  There  are  open 
squares,  containing,  almost  invariably,  fountains  beautiful  or 
grotesque,  and  those  most  sombre  yet  picturesque  and  impos- 
ing of  monuments,  Egyptian  obelisks.  The  general  aspect  of 
the  city,  as  seen  from  a  height,  is  of  a  dark  gray  —  a  strong 
contrast,  indeed,  to  Iris-hued  Genoa.  I  have  as  yet  remarked 
no  fantastic-looking  buildings,  painted  in  light,  brilliant  colors, 
or  with  frescoed  outer  walls.  All  respectable  dwelling  houses 
are  built  on  a  large  and  lofty  scale,  with  the  best  suites  of 
apartments  astonishingly  high  up,  and  the  entrance  halls  chill, 
dreary,  and  prison-like. 

The  Romans  of  rank  and  fortune  are  singularly  handsome. 
You  see  little  in  their  dress  to  distinguish  them  from  the 
English  01  French  resident  here,  but  unerringly  recognize 
them  by  their  pale,  olive  complexion,  their  shining  black  hair, 
and  largCf  magnificent  eyes  —  not  the  quick,  fiery,  sparkling 
eyes  that  fiash  lightning-like  upon  you  in  southern  France, 
but  those  of  full-orbed  yet  chaotic  thought,  of  slumberous  pas- 
sion, dreamy  and  soft ;  eyes  which  do  not  strike  your  gaze  off 
15* 


174  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

from  their  bright  surface,  yet  are  utterly  unfathomable,  and 
into  which  you  can  look  down  to  depth  on  depth  of  mystery 
and  darkness. 

The  common  people  are  gayer  in  manner,  and  you  some* 
times  remark  among  them  forms  and  faces  of  striking  beauty. 
I  regret  to  say  that  the  picturesque  national  costume  of  this 
class  seems  rapidly  going  out,  at  least  in  the  large  towns.  I 
have  seen  comparatively  few  women  in  the  distinctive  Roman 
dress,  and  most  of  these  are  old  and  ugly,  holdins:  on  with  the 
deadly  tenacity  of  age  to  things  of  the  past  —  alas  !  I  fear  a 
Partington-like  resistance  to  the  onward  sweep  of  French 
fashions  and  Manchester  prints.  I  sometimes  see  in  the 
streets  a  contadina  from  Albano,  in  a  brilliant  dress  of  red 
and  white  ;  or  out  on  the  Campagna  a  shepherd  boy,  clad  in  a 
regular  John  the  Baptist  kilt  of  sheepskin,  who  really  look  as 
though  they  had  just  stepped  out  of  a  picture. 

They  are  far  finer  and  more  intelligent  looking  than  the 
Irish  peasants  —  their  dwellings  are  better,  and  with  pleas- 
anter  and  more  poetic  surroundings.  But  the  oft-told  truth 
must  be  repeated  —  there  is  ndt  in  the  civilized  world  a  peo- 
'  pie  of  more  careless  and  uncleanly  habits.  In  all  the  towns 
we  have  yet  visited,  in  the  best  streets,  along  the  public  walks, 
about  the  palaces  and  churches,  we  meet  disgusting  filth  and 
vile  stenches  enough  to  breed  a  pestilence  which  might  scourge 
the  world.  After  a  little  observation  of  what  manner  of  lives 
the  common  people  lead,  you  little  wonder  that,  for  all  their 
delicious  climate,  they  are  seldom  healthful  in  appearance. 
You  see  very  few  with  the  rich,  kindling,  sun-kissed  complex- 
ion which  painters  and  poets  give  them  —  nearly  all  their 
faces  are  colorless,  and  some  are  sallow  to  the  last  degree. 
The  children  arc  usually  miserably  pale  and  thin.  I  have 
seen  poor  babes  tightly  swaddled,  as  all  infants  are  here, 
lying  on  the  ground  or  carried  stiffly  in  their  mothers'  arms, 
like  blocks  of  wood,  whose  great  patient  eyes  looked  out  of 


A    TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  175 

black  shadows,  and  whose  complexions  were  of  a  faint  pea 
tureen.  Yet  among  this  class  there  are,  of  course,  some  chil- 
iren,  treasures  and  godsends  to  painters  and  sculptors,  whose 
Deautj  seems  to  spring  rich  and  perfect  from  the  very  filth 
nnd  misery  which  surround  them,  like  those  gorgeous  flowers 
A'hich  feed  and  flourish  on  corruption.  These  dirty  little 
i^agabonds  are  liable  to  be  waylaid  and  kidnapped  by  needy 
Artists,  stripped  of  their  rags,  washed  and  posed,  then  to  re- 
appear in  profane  full  length,  pinioned  and  quivered  as  Cupids, 
or  in  sacred  quarter  length,  a  cherubic  head  and  wings,  with 
mdefinite  cloudy  continuations. 

In  passing  through  the  suburbs  or  inferior  streets  of  any 
Italian  town  on  Sunday,  or  any  other  day  of  more  than  usual 
leisure,  you  will  witness  an  odd  and  purely  Italian  sight  — 
mothers  seated  in,  or  in  front  of,  their  doors,  with  the  heads 
of  their  children  in  their  laps,  absorbed  in  an  indescribable 
and  hardly  hint-at-able  maternal  duty.  At  first  I  took  them 
for  practical  phrenologists,  making  careful  and  conscientious 
examinations  of  the  organs  of  their  responsibilities,  that  they 
might  "  train  them  up  in  the  way.  they  should  go." 

The  beggars  constitute  a  prominent  and  a  most  repulsive 
feature  of  Italy.  They  appear  in  every  imaginable  variety 
and  degree  of  wretchedness,  disease,  and  deformity.  They 
beset  you  every  where,  and  at  all  times  —  in  walks,  drives, 
churches,  on  the  steps  of  palaces,  in  shops,  cafes,  among  the 
ruins  —  at  early  morning,  at  noon,  at  midnight.  It  is  not  safe 
for  you  to  pause  to  admire  a  handsome  peasant  woman,  or 
child,  however  well  dressed,  for  begging  seems  the  earliest  in- 
stinct, the  universal,  ruling  passion  of  the  people. 

Driving  in  the  country  lately,  we  passed  a  stream,  on  whose 
banks  some  women  were  washing  linen  ;  and,  on  seeing  us,  an 
old  dame,  of  at  least  seventy,  dropped  the  ragged  sheet  she 
was  cleansing  on  the  rock,  dashed  through  the  water  up  to  her 
venerab^**.  kpees,  cleared   the   bank  with   a   bound,  and  pre 


176  HArS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

sented  her  withered  and  dripping  palm  at  the  coach  door, 
keeping  up  with  the  full  speed  of  our  horses  —  a  hideous, 
horrible  creature,  chattering  and  howling  like  a  very  she  devil, 
till  we  exorcised  her  with  a  few  hajocchi.  As  for  those  ever 
legitimate  objects  of  charity,  the  blind,  diseased,  deformed, 
maimed,  and  crippled,  they  seem  as  innumerable  as  the  waves 
of  the  sea.  You  see  men  with  sturdy,  broad  chests,  and  big, 
bushy  heads,  on  legs  which  have  shrunken  into  a  second  child- 
hood, and  lie  coiled  under  them  like  cables.  Among  the 
regular  lyers  in  wait  about  one  of  the  churches  is  an  old 
M'oman  with  an  immense  wen,  projecting  from  her  forehead 
like  the  horn  of  a  unicorn,  and  a  boy  whose  withered  right 
arm  hangs  bare  at  his  side,  stiff,  straight,  and  slender,  like  a 
pump  handle.  Men,  legless  and  armless,  mere  torsi,  roll  down 
upon  you  from  declivities ;  men  with  paralyzed  spines  wriggle 
across  your  path  like  reptiles ;  and,  in  short,  there  is  no  end 
to  these  deformed  forms  of  humanity,  these  dismembered 
members  of  society.  I  am  always  most  touched  with  the 
appeals  of  the  blind  and  the  maimed.  To  be  sightless  and 
crippled  in  Italy  ! 

O  "  god  of  life,  of  poesy,  and  light "  ! 

With  soldiers  and  priests  Rome  actually  swarms.  You  go 
nowhere -that  you  do  not  see  the  French  and  Papal  troops, 
though  far  more  of  the  former  than  of  the  latter.  Indeed, 
from  the  number  of  barracks,  sentinelled  points,  parades, 
marchings  hither  and  thither,  bugle  calls,  and  noisy  drum 
beatings,  one  might  suppose  Rome  entirely  under  foreign  rule 
and  military  law.  As  for  the  holy  priesthood,  as  was  said  of 
another  institution,  its  "  name  is  legion."  You  meet,  every 
where,  dark,  sinister-looking  Jesuits,  in  their  sombre  robes, 
moving  about  by  twos,  at  a  peculiar,  stealthy,  prowling  gait  — 
walking  presentments  of  the  very  blackness  of  spiritual  dark 
ness  ;  stupid,  vulgar-looking  Franciscans,  in  coarse  gowns  of 


A   TOUR    «N    EUROPE.  177 

hmwn  clctli,  rope-^Irdetl;  barefooted,  shaven,  begging  friars, 
sometimes  leading  ass^s  laden  with  the  pious  offerings  of  the 
faithful —- the  morc  asses  they;  handsome  young  abbes,  who 
contrite  in  some  inex{>!icable  way  to  give  a  dandical  touclt  to 
their  ugly,  unmanly  (t)stume5  and  who  are  seldom  too  much 
rapt  ih  heavenly  contemplation  to  cast  seaix^hing  and  insinuating 
glances  at  the  young  and  comely  women  they  chance  to  meet. 

On  the  Pincia.n,  which  is  the  principal  Roman  drive  and 
promenade,  we  often  encounter  troops  of  boys  and  youth&,  in 
tniining  for  the  churci),  dressed  in  flowing  gowns,  and  some- 
thing very  like  petticoats  of  blnck  or  wliite  flannel,  and  w^ear- 
ing  immense  broad-brimmed  hats.  Nearly  all  these  have  faces 
either  cunning,  or  to  the  last  degree  stolid  in  expression.  We 
there  often  meet  the  higher  church  dignitaries—- cardinals, 
whom  we  know  by  their  red  legs ;  and  monsignori,  who  are 
proclaimed  by  their  purple  legs.  In  short,  one  miglit  suppose 
it  had  rained  priests  for  forty  days  and  forty  nights  on  this 
devoted  land. 

Religious  processions  are  very  common  in  the  streets  — 
but  it  is  remarkable  that  you  seldom  see  them  follow^ed,  or 
observed  with  apparent  reverence,  by  any  but^old  men  and 
women  and  mere  children.  A  long  procession  of  monks, 
chanting  a  dirge  and  bearing  tapers,  passed  our  house  one 
afternoon,  lately,  preceding  a  body,  borne  coffinless,  but  richly 
palled  upon  a  bier.  Seeing  that  they  entered  a  church  in  the 
Corso,  near  by,  and  thinking  that  after  so  much  street  parade 
the  ceremonies  there  would  be  very  imposing,  I  hurried  on  a 
bonnet  and  shawl,  and  hastened  to  witness  them.  But  w^hen 
I  reached  the  church,  lo !  the  great  multitude  of  holy  fathers 
had  vanished,  with  the  exception  of  two  or  three,  who  lounged 
near  the  door,  chatting  and  laughing.  In  the  centre  of  the 
dim  church  stood  the  bier,  and  a  couple  of  workmen  in  their 
shirt  sleeves  were  putting  the  .body  into  a  rough  deal  coffir, 
talking  loudly  and  unconcernedly  meanwhile.      A  group  of 


178  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

little  children  were  witnesses  with  me  to  the  ghastly  sight. 
Their  large  eyes  grew  a  trifle  larger  with  in.siinctive  fear  and 
wonder ;  but  they  were  not  too  much  horrified  to  beg  of  me,  in 
a  low,  whimpering,  spaniel-like  whine. 

This  morning  I  saw  a  less  painful  sight  —  a  procession  of 
boys,  dressed  in  white,  parading  and  following  the  body  of  a 
r^hild.  The  bier  was  draped  in  white,  and  decked  with  wreaths 
of  roses,  and  the  dirge  chanted  by  all  those  fresh,  young  voices, 
was  touchingly  sweet  and  mournful. 

I  am  sorry  to  feel  compelled  to  speak  slightly  or  harshly  of 
a  religion  which  is  yet  dear  and  venerable  to  a  few  sincere 
souls.  But  the  more  I  see  of  the  pomps,  superstitions,  mum- 
meries, frauds,  avarice,  and  arrogant  domination  of  the  Roman 
church,  the  more  am  I  convinced  that  it  is  the  source, 
strength,  and  subtle  essence  of  European  tyranny  —  that  it 
narrows,  blinds,  grinds  down,  and  crushes  out  the  very  soul  of 
the  age.  It  is  a  fungous  growth  of  error  and  falsehood,  mock- 
ing the  fair  and  fruitful  forms  of  truth  —  a  dark  and  gigantic 
unreality,  for  the  time  fearfully  real  —  the  nightmare  which 
oppresses  the  world.  As  it  seems  to  me,  so  must  I  speak  of 
it.  I  cannot  do  otherwise,  and  keep  my  own  truth  towards 
God  and  my  fellows. 

December  6. 

In  the  few  brief  comments  which  I  fei^l  inclined  to  make  on 
some  of  the  great  works  of  sculpture  and  painting  here  at 
Rome,  I  speak  by  no  means  "  as  one  having  authority,"  by 
virtue  of  any  ripe  critical  knowledge  of  art.  I  should  be 
silent  ahogether  on  these  subjects,  did  I  not  observe  that  one's 
true,  fresh,  and  vivid  impressions  of  such  things  are  worthy 
of  some  respect,  and  that  a  sincere  and  reverential  love  of 
beauty  gives  one  an  instinctive  appreciation  of  the  spirit  of  the 
higher  forms  of  art,  however  deficient  the  judgment  may  be  in 
matters  of  execution  and  detail.  One  may  most  profoundly 
%el  effects  in  art  with  a  very  limited  understanding  of  can  \es. 


A    TO  UK    IN    EUROPE.  179 

It  is  rare  to  find  an  honest  opinion,  honestly  expressed,  by 
one  not  an  artist  or  a  connoisseur.  Among  modern  English 
authors  writing  from  Rome,  I  remember  Mrs.  Kemble  and 
Mr.  Dickens  as  most  independent  and  individual  in  this  re- 
spect. They  boldly  uttered  their  true  thought,  their  whole 
thought,  and  were  evidently  not  to  be  thundered  down  by  the 
canons  of  criticism.  I  do  not  mean  this  as  an  exordium  to  a 
criticism-contemning,  critic-defying  dissertation ;  in  the  little  I 
have  to  say  on  art,  I  may  not  utter  any  treasons  —  and  I 
may.     Nous  verrons. 

Of  all  the  antique  statues  I  have  yet  seen,  I  have  been  by 
far  the  most  impressed  by  the  Apollo  Belvidere  and  the  Dying 
Gladiator  —  the  oiibe  the  striking  imbodiment  of  the  pride,  and 
fire,  and  power,  and  joy  of  life ;  the  other  of  the  mournful 
majesty,  the  proud  resignation,  the  "  conquered  agony "  of 
death.  In  all  his  triumphant  beauty,  exultant  vitality,  and 
rejoicing  strength,  the  Apollo  stands  forth  as  a  pure  type  of 
immortality  —  every  inch  a  god.  There  is  an  Olympian 
spring  in  the  foot  which  seems  to  spurn  the  earth  —  a  secure 
disdain  of  death  in  the  very  curve  of  his  nostrils  —  a  sunborn 
light  on  his  brow  ;  while  the  absolute  perfection  of  grace,  the 
supernal  majesty  of  the  figure,  now,  as  in  the  old  tim^  seem 
to  lift  it  above  the  human  and  the  perishing,  into  the  region  of 
the  divine  and  the  eternal.  Scarcely  can  it  be  said  that  the 
worship  of  this  god  has  ceased.  The  indestructible  glory  of 
the  lost  divinity  lingers  about  him  still;  and  the  deep,  almost 
fiolemn  emotion,  the  sigh  of  unutterable  admiration,  with 
which  the  pilgrims  of  art  first  behold  him  now,  differ  little, 
perhaps,  from  the  hushed  adoration  of  his  early  worshippers. 
1  have  never  seen  any  work  of  art  which  I  had  such  difficulty 
to  realize  as  a  mere  human  creation,  born  in  an  artist's  strug- 
gling brain,  moulded  in  dull  chiy,  and  from  thence  transferred, 
by  the  usual  slow  and  laborious  process,  to  marble.  Nor  can 
1  even  think  of  it  as  having,  according  to  the  old  poetic  fancy, 


i80  HArS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

preexisted  In  the  stone,  till  the  divinely-directed  chisel  of  the 
sculptor  cut  down  to  it.  Ah,  so,  methinks,  the  very  marble 
i^ust  have  groaned,  in  prescience  of  the  god  it  held.  To  me 
it  rather  seems  a  glowing,  divine  conception,  struck  instantly 
into  stone.  It  surely  embodies  the  very  soul  and  glory  of  the 
ancient  mythology,  and,  with  kindred  works,  forms,  if  not  a 
fair  justification  of.  at  least  a  noble  apology  for,  a  religion 
which  revelled  in  ideas  of  beauty  and  grace,  which  had  ever 
something  lofty  and  pure  even  in  its  refined  sensuality  —  and 
for  the  splendid  arrogance  of  that  genius  which  boldly  chiselled 
out  its  own  grand  conceptions,  and  named  them  gods. 

The  Apollo  I  should  like  to  see  every  doy  of  my  life.  I 
\\'ould  have  it  near  me  ;  and  every  morning,  as  the  darkness  is 
lifted  before  the  sun,  and  the  miracle  of  creation  is  renewed,  1 
would  wish  to  lift  a  curtain,  and  gaze  on  that  transcendent  im 
age  of  life  and  light  —  to  receive  into  my  own  being  somewhat 
of  the  energy  and  joy  of  existence  with  which  it  so  abounds  — 
to  catch  some  gleams  of  the  glory  of  the  fresh  and  golden 
morning  of  poetry  and  art  yet  raying  from  his  brow.  One 
could  drink  in  strength,  as  from  a  fountain,  from  gazing  on  that 
attitude  of  pride  and  grace,  so  light,  yet  firm,  and  renew  one's 
wasted  vigor  by  the  mere  sight  of  that  exulting  and  effortless 
action.  But  who  would  live  in  daily  contemplation  of  the  im- 
mortal agony  of  the  Laocoon,  or  the  mighty  death  pang  which 
wrings  the  brow  of  the  Gladiator?*  I  must  confess  that  the 
sight  of  the  fprmer  gives  me  nothing  but  pain  —  admiration 
and  wonder  seem  absolutely  crushed  in  the  folds  of  those 
enormous  serpents.  The  vain  struggling  of  the  old  man,  the 
fear  and  suffering  of  the  youths,  and  the  endless  coiling  of  the 
serpents,  constitute  a  mass  of  horrors  which  not  all  the  wonders 
of  the  sculpture  can  redeem,  and  from  which  I  shrink  almost 
with  disgust. 

The  Gladiator,  grand  in  his  perfect  humanity,  a  proudei 
figure,  fallen  and  overcome  as  he  is,  than  many  an  erect  and 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  181 

victorious  hero,  witli  the  rich  blood  of  his  prime  tricrkhng 
slowly  and  sickeningly  from  his  one.  deep  wound,  is  a  pro- 
foundly touching,  I  had  almost  said  a  heart-breaking,  sight. 
And  yet  you  scarcely  dare  to  grieve  —  he  is  too  royal  for  pity. 
The  marble,  age-imbrowned,  seems  shadowed  by  Death's 
awful  wing.  There  seems  a  strange  stillness  about  it,  and  you 
hush  your  own  breath  in  involuntary  reverence.  Here  is  no 
struggle,  no  contortion  —  the  soul  seems  making  a  truly  kingly 
abdication  —  the  "  manly  brow  consents  to  death  ;  "  and  yet  you 
can  see,  by  its  deepened  lines,  by  the  sunken  eyes,  tlie  relaxed 
lips,  and  by  the  swollen  veins  of  the  extended  limbs,  that  the 
very  citadel  of  life  is  stormed  by  mortal  anguish.  It  is  im- 
possible to  gaze  on  the  Dying  Gladiator  without  further  sad- 
dening yourself  by  gifting  him,  as  does  Byron,  wnth  a  heart 
whose  sweet,  sad  memories  blind  him  to  the  dizzying  sight  of 
the  crowded  amphitheatre,  and  whose  last  wild  throbs  of 
love  and  yearning  deafen  him  to  the  shouts  which  greet  his 
conqueror. 

In  the  hall  of  the  Gladiator  are  several  other  noble  antiques 
—  a  very  grand  Amazon,  a  fine  Ariadne,  the  Faun  of  Praxit- 
eles, a  charming  figure,  and  the  Antinous,  considered  a  fault- 
less ideal  of  youthful  manhood.  It  is  exceedingly  beautiful, 
but  wanting  in  that  something  superhuman  which,  in  the 
Apollo,  almost  compels  a  paganish  adoration.  The  Venus  of 
the  Capitol  is  but  a  beautiful,  soulless,  voluptuous  creature  — 
an  exquisite  animal,  unworthy  to  lace  the  sandals  of  the  pure, 
simple,  and  august  Venus  of  Milo,  which,  broken  as  it  is,  still 
stands  forth  grandly  unapproachable  among  all  antique  forms 
of  lovely  womanhood.  Near  the  Venus  stands  a  delicious 
group  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  whose  sentiment  seems  to  me  a 
wonderful  union  of  passion  and  purity.  The  expression  and 
attitude  of  each  figure  are  full  of  intense  lovingness,  childlike 
sweetness,  and  innocent  unconsciousness.  The  soft  light  and 
wanuth,  the  divine  atmosphere,  of  young  love,  seems  floating 
IG 


182  HAPS    A'ND    MISHAPS    OF 

about  the  group,  the  one  pure  sentiment  pervades  and  per 
meates  th  j  two  fair  embracing  forms.     It  flows  in  the  drapery, 
it  nestles  in  the  hair,  it  is  expressed  in  the  shghtest  curve  of 
each  delicate  limb,  as  unmistakably  as  in  that  fond  kiss  of  lips 
which  cling  and  cling  forever. 

I  have  seen  many  wonderful  paintings  of  the  great  masters 
since  I  came  to  Rome ;  and  from  this  world  of  pictorial  beauty 
and  power,  I  know  not  how  to  select  the  few  objects  on  which 
I  may  presume  to  comment.  The  fairest  and  grandest  of 
Rapliael's  exquisite  creations,  the  sublime  monuments  of  the 
stern  and  Titanic  genius  of  Michael  Angclo,  the  graceful  and 
glowing  forms  of  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Correggio,  Guido,  Domeni- 
chino,  —  I  gaze  upon  them  daily  ;  they  are  becoming  revered, 
almost  beloved,  objects  to  me.  And  so  I  cannot  speak  of  them 
en  masse,  or  deliberately,  but  may  refer  to  some  of  them  sepa- 
rately and  incidentally,  from  time  to  time.  But  I  must  con- 
fess, e?4  passant,  that  I  am  disappointed  in  the  Transfiguration. 
Its  grandeur  I  do  not  question  ;  but  it  has  not,  to  my  eye,  all  the 
divine,  transcendent  beauty  I  looked  to  see  in  the  most  per- 
fect creation,  the  crowning  achievement,  of  Raphael's  genius. 
Some  of  his  minor  and  simpler  compositions  impress  me  more. 
Kor  can  I  find  all  that  poets  have  found  in  Guido's  famous 
portrait  of  Beatrice  Cenci,  in  the  Barberini  Palace.  The 
upper  part  of  the  face  is  truly  beautiful,  the  brow  is  noble, 
and  the  eyes,  in  the  full,  living  look  they  cast  on  you,  have  a 
sweet,  appealing  sadness  and  mournful  hopelessness,  which 
haunt  you  through  days  and  weeks  ;  but  the  mouth  I  think 
childish-  and  characterless.  I  cannot  imagine  those  lips,  falling 
so  listlessly  apart,  ever  set  with  heroic  energy  and  deadly  de- 
termination. I  cannot  believe  that  this  expression  of  weakness 
could  hav)  resulted  altogether  from  the  past  torture  or  the 
coming  death  agony ;  and  I  hold  to  the  oi)inion,  that  if  Bea- 
trice Cenci  was  guilty  of  the  terrible  yet  noble  crime  for  which 
she  suffered,  and  bore  herself  so  grandly  through  all  as  we 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  183 

have  been  told  she  did,  then  this  is  not  a  perfectly  true 
portrait. 

One  lovely  afternoon,  lately,  I  drove,  with  my  friends  Mr. 

and  Mrs.  S ,  to  the  villa  Borghese,  where,  among  many 

other  fine  works  of  art,  I  saw  Canova's  Venus  Victorieuse. 
This  is  an  exceedingly  graceful  and  elegant  statue,  altogether 
my  favorite  among  Canova's  female  figures.  For  this  Pau- 
line Bonaparte  sat,  or  rather  reclined ;  and  it  was  refernng  to 
this  that  she  afterwards  made  the  famous  reply  to  a  somewhat 
more  scrupulous  lady,  who  wondered  how  she  could  bear  the 
exposure  —  "  O,  I  assure  you  it  was  not  uncomfortable  ;  the 
room  was  well  warmed  "  —  simply  treating  it  as  a  question.of 
Fahrenheit. 

This  villa  is  one  of  the  loveliest  places  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Rome.  I  sliall  never  forget  our  coming  out  into  the  grounds 
at  sunset,  and  the  long  draughts  of  pure  delight  which  I  drank 
in  as  I  gazed  around  and  above  me.  Stately  trees  cast  their 
soft  shadows  across  ray  path  ;  fallen  leaves,  golden,  and  bronze, 
and  crimson,  stirred  into  little  eddies  by  the  rising  wind, 
rippled  about  my  feet ;  fountains  murmured  dreamily  in  the 
distance,  and  intermingled  lights  and  shades  played  over  the 
pleasant  lawn.  The  sky  was  gorgeous  with  purple  and  gold, 
shading  off  into  the  softest  lilac  and  the  serenest  blue.  Wher- 
ever I  looked,  on  earth,  or  heaven,  there  was  beauty  —  beauty 
indescribable,  unim.aginable ;  and  I  exclaimed,  ''O  God  must 
have  brooded  longer  over  this  land  than  over  any  other  on  the 
broad  face  of  the  world  !  " 

We  have  spent  one  day  at  Tivoli,  where  we  saw  the  yet 
beautiful  temple  of  the  Sibyl,  the  famous  grotto,  the  falls,  the 
ruins  —  had  a  long  donkey  ride  over  the  hills,  and  picnicked 
under  olive  and  fig  trees,  in  sight  of  half  a  dozen  silvery  cas- 
cades. Tivoli  is  a  very  picturesque  and  charming  old  place, 
where  one  could  linger  for  months,  lapped  in  long,  luxurioua 
dreams  of  its  past  glories  and  splendors,  when  the  princelv 


184  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

villas  of  Hadrian,  Maecenas,  Propertius,  Sallust,  Brutas,  and 
Cassius  gleamed  white  and  beautiful  among  its  woods  and 
waterfalls  ;  or  in  quiet,  ever  fresh  enjoyment  of  the  indestruc- 
tible loveliness  of  Nature. 

Yesterday  we  attended  high  mass  in  the  Sistine  chapel,  the 
Pope  officiating.  The  cardinals  were  present  in  strong  force 
and  grand  array ;  and  on  this  occasion  I  first  witnessed  the 
ceremony  of  kissing  the  cross  on  the  Pope's  robe,  and  on  the 
toe  of  His  Holiness's  shoe.  After  service  we  drove  to  the  Ba- 
silica of  San  Paolo,  a  large  and  splendid  church,  now  being 
erected  on  the  site  of  one  destroyed  by  lire.  When  finished, 
this  will  even  rival  St.  Peter*s  in  beauty  and  gi^ndeur.  I 
have  never  beheld  any  thing  in  architecture  more  magnificent 
than  the  double  rows  of  pillars  down  the  immense  nave.  Yet 
my  admiration  was  mingled  with  bitterness  and  grief.  I  felt 
that  they  weighed  on  the  crushed  souls  of  the  people,  on  lib- 
erty, and  true  Christianity.  When  I  thought  of  this  once 
noble  race,  oppressed,  debased,  beggared,  and  beheld  this 
waste  of  wealth  wrung  from  thfem  by  tlie  soul-rack  of  super- 
stition, all  seemed  to  me  but  a  gigantic  mockery  reared  in  the 
face  of  a  just  God,  '"who  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made  with 
»iands.*' 

To-day  we  have  ascended  St.  Peter's  to  the  very  lantern. 
We  found  the  ascent  much  less  tedious  and  fatinjuinoj  than  we 
expected,  and  that  we  had  had  but  faint  and  narrow  conceptiona 
of  the  h(  iglif  and  'jfrnndcnr  of  tJiis  stupendous  building.  It  was 
strange  to  wander  about  on  the  vast  roof,  among  the  cupolas 
and  workshops,  which  seemed  to  constitute  a  small  village  of 
themselves  ;  and  alter  ha\'ing  accomplit»hed  the  ascent,  the 
down  look  IVom  tlie  top  of  the  great  dome  was  awfully  grand. 
The  head  swam,  as  from  the  height  of  that  {pictured  heaven 
the  eye  fell  from  circle  to  cinde  of  those  wonch'ous  mosaics  — 
seraphs,  cherubs,  prophets,  apostles  —  to  the  illuminated  altar 
below.     Yet  hero  also  I  wjvs   s;\ddened  —  remembering  how 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  185 

thousands  on  thousands  of  God's  poor  children  had  groped 
in  the  profoundest  night  of  ignorance  and  error,  from  the 
cradle  to  the  grave,  that  this  vast  pile  of  marble,  and  gilding, 
and  gorgeous  colors  might  dazzle  the  world.  I  remembered 
with  how  much  "  spiritual  wickedness  in  high  places,"  with 
how  much  fraud  and  crime,  the  wealth  here  lavished  had  been 
wrested  from  the  hands  of  the  poor  and  the  deluded ;  and  me- 
thought  over  such  sights  as  these  would  Jesus  weep  tears  more 
bitter  than  those  he  shed  over  Jerusalem. 

We  have  visited  the  Coliseum  by  moonlight,  and  bathed  our 
very  souls  in  the  dreamy  and  desolate  beauty  of  the  scene. 
The  Forum  Romanum  and  the  Forum  of  Trajan  are  scarcely 
less  impressive  at  night ;  but  I  always  feel  and  realize  most  in 
gazing  on  the  ancient  Arches  of  Titus,  of  Septimius  Severus, 
Constantine,  Drusus,  and  Janus.  What  floods  of  glorious 
life  poured  through  these  in  the  proud  old  warlike  days  —  in 
the  slow  sweep  of  victorious  armies,  or  the  wild  surge  of  bat- 
tle and  flight,  or  the  quiet,  continuous  flow  of  prosperous  peace, 
or  the  full  sparkling  gush  of  pleasure  !  What  countless  religious 
and  festal  pageants,  marriage  and  funeral  processions,  have 
passed  under  them !  What  stormy  crowds  have  gathered 
round  them !  What  murderous  faces  have  lurked  behind 
them !  What  stars  of  womanly  loveliness  have  gleamed  out 
the  brighter  from  their  momentary  shade !  What  sweet, 
childish  laughters  have  rung  through  them  !  —  tumult  and 
crime  layed  and  avenged,  lights  of  beauty  and  childish  laugh* 
ters  quenched  and  hushed  these  many,  many  centuries.  And 
the  stately  columns  of  Antoninus  and  Trajan,  nearly  as  old  as 
Christianity,  yet  still  wreathed  with  rare  sculptures,  alive  with 
the  matchless  forms  of  antique  art,  what  triumphs  and  cap- 
tivities, splendors  and  desolations,  have  ye  beheld,  O  won- 
drous dumb  witnesses  of  a  mighty  past ! 

Fr  )m  amid  the  grand  shadows  and  tender  sunlight  which 
fall  about  me  here,  I  look   out  on  the  world,  if  not  gayly, 
16* 


186         *  HAPS    AND    MISHArS    OF 

surely   not   sadly  —  in   melancholy,    perhaps,    but   neA'er    o 
despair. 

December  15. 

One  sunny  Sabbath  afternoon,  lately,  we  visiied  the  pleas- 
ant Protestant  cemetery,  where  Keats  sleeps,  and  where  the 
heart  and  the  ashes  of  Shelley  are  buried.  I  was  pained  to 
find  the  grave  of  Keats  in  a  bare  and  shadowless  place.  He 
whose  heart  was  so  full  of  music,  who  loved  beauty  so  pas- 
sionately, has  not  a  tree  to  shelter  a  bird  over  his  lonely  rest 
- —  not  a  flower  to  breathe  a  perfumed  sigh  over  his  lowly  pil- 
low. Surely,  from  the  dust  once  instinct  with  his  delicate 
spirit,  sweet-breathed  violets  should  have  sprung,  and  his  rich 
young  blood  should  have  nourished  deep-hearted  roses.  And 
yet,  violets  planted  on  this  sad  grave  might  have  been  paled 
by  receiving  too  many  tears  for  dew  ;  and  here,  whence  even 
wild  flowers  and  weeds  are  stripped  away,  few  rosebuds  would 
ever  have  become  roses,  but  all  have  disappeared  by  the 
pious  theft  of  countless  pilgrims,  and  gone  to  sweeten  cabinets, 
and  drawers,  and  precious  volumes,  with  the  memory  of  tliat 
rich  poet  life,  plucked,  like  them,  with  half  its  touching' 
beauty  unfolded  —  with  half  its  divine  sweetness  untasted  by 
the  world. 

Saddened  as  I  was  at  the  grave  of  Keats,  I  was  yet  unpre- 
pared for  the  flood  of  emotion  which  swept  over  me  beside 
that  of  Shelley.  He  had  ever  been  one  of  the  "  gods  of  my 
idolatry,"  not  alone  for  his  subhme  yet  most  exquisite  poetic 
genius,  but  for  his  passionate  love  and  fervid  apostleship  of 
Freedom  —  for  the  burning  rebukes,  the  stern  warnings,  for 
even  thi  awful  anathemas,  which  he  shrieked  out  against 
tyranny  and  tyrants ;  but  I  looked  not  to  feel  the  real  pang 
of  grief,  which  changed  the  deep,  low  breathing  with  which 
1  approached  into  (juick  sobs,  and  dissolved  in  tears  the  ad- 
miration and  reverence  of  a  life.  "  The  spirit  of  the  spot " 
bowed  me  over  the  stone  which  covered  his  ashes,  till  my  brow, 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  187 

my  lips,  touched  it,  and  my  heart  throbbed, against  it  all  its 
Borrow  and  regret.  I  thought  of  the  loves,  and  griefs,  and 
wrongs,  the  sweet  hopes  and  bitter  disappointments  of  his 
brief  and  troubled  life,  of  the  grand  aspirations  and  imagina- 
tions which  stormed  heaven,  and,  Prometheus-like,  laid  hold  on 
the  divine  element ;  and  of  the  hard  judgment,  the  relentless 
ha  0,  chaining  him,  and  eating  into  his  great  heart  here.  I 
thought  more  mournfully  of  the  lost  possibilities  of  his  unful- 
filled destiny,  of  bis  unperfected  genius,  of  the  grander  strains 
of  "  heavenly  poesie "  with  which  he  might  have  filled  the 
world  ;  of  the  yet  mere  potent  words  he  might  have  spoken 
for  freedom,  and  hurled  against  oppression ;  of  his  own 
redemption  from  all  error ;  of  his  final  recognition  of  that 
matchless  ideal  of  the  divine  and  the  true,  which  the  crime 
and  hypocrisy  of  men  had  for  a  while  hidden  from  his  sight. 
I  thought  of  the  peace,  beauty,  and  love  rest  of  those  last  days 
by  the  sea,  till  the  hour  of  sudden  tempest  and  whelming 
flood  —  of  the  brief,  wild  struggle  m  the  deep,  till  the  freed 
soul  cleft  its  swift  way  through  the  waves,  up  above  storm  and 
cloud,  "  the  massy  earth  and  sphered  skies,"  to  '^  the  abode 
where  the  eternal  are."  Then  I  looked  up  comforted,  feel- 
ing that  all  must  be  well  with  him — that  a  spirit  by  nature 
so  pure,  and  so  true,  so  like  a  beautiful  fragment,  a  stray  splen- 
dor struck  oft'  from  the  divine  life,  could  not  lose  itself  long  in 
the  dim,  unanswering  void  which  lies  without  the  presence  of 
God. 

This  grave  is  in  a  lovely  spot — trees  and  ruins  are  about 
it,  and  near  it  towers  the  solemn  pyramidal  tomb  of  Caius 
Cestius.  Near  also  to  this  grave  is  that  of  the  beloved  eldest 
child  of  the  poet,  and  Mary  Godwin.  It  is  sweet  to  think  of 
the  fair  young  spirit,  as  running  a  little  way  on  before,  to  open 
for  him  the  immortal  gates  —  as  looking  lovingly  and  smiling- 
\y  back — as  passing  slowly  in,  shading  his   eyes   from  "the 


188  IIAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

white  radiance  "  streaming  about  him,  and  as  hngering  by  the 
portals  till  he,  the  tired  one,  came. 

I  fear  I  am  succeeding  but  ill  in  descriptions  of  the  scenes 
of  my  life  in  Rome.  The  pictures  in  my  own  mind  are 
strongly  drawn  and  vividly  colored  ;  but  the  copies  I  make  are 
very  feeble  and  pale.  Even  of  the  thought  they  inspire,  J 
find  I  can  give  only  the  dull,  empty  chrysalis  —  the  delicate 
ethereal,  poetic  spirit  escapes  me,  flutters  above  me,  and  mocks 
me  with  its  inexpressible  beauty.  But,  if  I  find  it  difficult  to 
describe  what  I  see,  to  utter  my  full  thought,  yet  infinitely 
more  difficult  will  it  be  to  give  true  conceptions  of  what  Ifeel 
in  this  life.  I  actually  seem  in  a  sort  of  prolonged  poetic 
ecstasy.  Every  morning,  when  I  awake,  I  say  to  my  heart, 
"  Throb  away  as  strongly,  as  exultingly,  as  passionately  as 
you  will ;  another  day  you  are  to  revel  in  the  rich  sun  and 
delicious  air  which  nourished  the  heroes  and  poets  of  the 
grand  old  time  —  heroes  who  stamped  their  conquering  foot- 
steps on  all  lands  —  poets  who  traced  their  highest  thought 
with  the  chisel,  and  imbodied  their  divinest  dreams  in  immor- 
tal stone."  I  seem  to  be  saturated  by  that  air  whose  every 
wave  flows  to  me  with  some  proud  or  mournful  memory ;  and 
that  sun  seems  to  distil  its  softness  and  richness  into  my  blood, 
and  to  stream  along  my  veins.  By  day  I  live  and  revel  in  that 
heroic  and  poetic  pa>t,  as  I  ride  over  the  ancient  roads,  or  out 
on  the  lonely  and  lovely  Campagna,  or  stroll  among  the  ruins. 
And  at  night  —  0,  at  night !  —  the  beauty,  and  pomp,  and  tri- 
umph of  my  dreams !  In  them  I  seldom  go  back  less  than 
seventeen  or  eighteen  centuries.  I  see  Rome  in  her  golden 
prime.  I  see  her  eagle-led  armies,  filing  through  her  massive 
gates.  I  see  her  imperial  palaces  and  the  grand  temples  of 
her  gods,  gleaming  white  and  perfect  in  their  pillared  and 
sculptured  splendor.  I  see  the  altars,  and  the  sacre4  groves, 
and   the   white-robed  vestals.      1    see    togaed  nobles   in  the 


A    TOUR    IN    EUllOPE.  189 

forums  and  on  the  Capitoline  Hill.  I  see  games  and  chariot 
races  in  the  Circus  of  Romulus,  and  gladiatorial  shows  in  the 
Coliseum  ;  and  I  seem  to  hear  around  me  that  old,  terse,  majes- 
tic tongue,  from  which  comes  the  sweet,  degenerate  Italian,  like 
the  honey  from  the  carcass  of  the  dead  lion.  Orators  thunder 
it  from  the  senate,  actors  rant  in  it  at  the  theatres,  vestals 
hymn  it  to  the  fair  divinities,  peasants  sliout  it  in  pjeans  to 
Bacchus  and  Pan,  "  greasy  citizens  "  talk  bloody  treason  and 
stiff  rebellion  in  it  under  the  arch  of  Septimius  Severus,  or 
lounging  on  the  steps  of  the  Temple  of  Concord  —  little  chil- 
dren, running  hand  in  hand  down  the  Via  Sacra,  prattle  in  it, 
lovers  murmur  it  in  moonlit  gardens,  poets  recite  odes  in  it  in 
the  portico  of  the  Pantheon,  ladies  "  of  a  certain  age  "  (for, 
alas !  such  there  are  in  all  times)  gossip  in  it  beside  the  foun- 
tains, and  talk  scandal  in  it  between  the  bloody  acts  at  the 
Coliseum,  and  housekeepers  bargain  in  it  for  beef  at  the 
shambles  in  the  Forum,  —  the  same  whence  Yirginius  took 
the  knife,  —  or  in  buying  patent  powders,  lotions,  and  elixirs 
from  Dr.  Galen,  at  his  drug  shop,  near  the  Temple  of  Peace. 

December  20, 
The  proclamation  of  the  empire  here  at  Rome  happened, 
unfortunately  for  the  loyal  French  soldiers,  on  a  festal  day  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  ;  so,  as  it  was  considered  already  appro- 
priated by  "  Our  Lady,"  there  was  no  grand  military  proces- 
sion, as  had  been  anticipated.  In  the  evening  there  were  a 
few  illuminations,  the  principal  of  which,  the  house  of  the 
French  minister,  was  very  fine.  We  went  on  that  afternoon 
to  the  Capitol,  to  see  the  Franciscan  procession  in  honor  of  the 
Virgin.  In  the  sight  for  which  I  went  I  was  ill  paid  for  my 
long  walk  —  the  procession  being  by  no  means  the  imposing 
affair  I  thought  to  see.  The  Franciscans  are  the  ugliest, 
coarsest,  and  the  most  animal-looking  set  of  men  I  have 
ever  encountered,  in  or  out  of  the  church.     I  declare,  that  in 


190  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

all  that  long   procession,  I  saw  not  one  whose  countenance 

revealed  that  he  had  one  high  tl  ought  in  his  brain,  one  pure 

aspiration  or  gentle  human  affection  in  his  heart.     You  could 

not  alone 

"  trace 

A  dead  soul's  epitaph  in  every  face," 

but  the  evidences  of  that  state  of  corruption  and  decay  which 
as  surely  follows  moral  as  physical  death,  and  the  breath  of 
which  seemed  to  taint  the  sweet  air  as  they  walked  along.  I 
remember  visiting,  some  years  since,  a  certain  state  institution 
in  Boston,  the  members  of  which  are  truly,  as  this  holy  fra- 
ternity proclaim  themselves  to  be,  retired  ^-om  the  world  for 
the  world's  good.  As  this  procession  of  ill-conditioned  friars 
passed  me,  I  was  reminded  suddenly  and  vividly  of  those  suf- 
ferers from  an  unfortunate  falling  out  with  the  laws,  as  I  saw 
them  "  training  in  "  to  a  dinner  somewhat  more  frugal  than 
even  monkish  fare. 

The  pictures  and  images  borne  in  the  procession  were  un- 
mitigated atrocities.  A  Virgin,  of  course,  —  and  a  very  coarse 
Virgin,  —  a  cadaverous  St.  Francis,  and  a  pictured  blasphemy 
in  the  shape  of  a  crucifixion.  Then  there  were  crosses  and 
other  symbols,  and  incense,  and  dolorous  chanting,  and  priests 
and  friars,  friars  and  priests,  swarming  on  and  on,  like  the 
locusts  of  Egypt. 

As  I  beheld  all  this  tinselled  and  tasteless  parade,  all  these 
ungracious,  unmanly  figures  descending  the  long  flight  of  steps, 
I  bethought  me  that  this  was  the  Capitoline  Hill,  where  the 
grand  Temple  of  Jupiter  once  stood,  and  that,  could  his  old 
warrior  worshippers  arise  from  the  dust,  in  what  a  whirlwind 
of  contemptuous  indignation  would  they  sweep  away  mumme- 
ries and  mummers  together  !  And  I  almost  felt  that  h-is  war- 
ship, hard  and  sensual,  yet  manly  and  poetical,  was  better 
than  this. 

I  suppose  I  shall  be  set  down  as  "  little  better  than  one  of 


^  A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  191 

tlie  wicked,"  when  I  avow  that  I  never  see  the  figure  of  a 
saint,  or  a  Madonna,  disfiguring  one  of  the  grand  antique  col- 
umns, without  an  intense  desire  to  see  it  tumbled  headlong 
from  its  place.  There  is  really  no  question  about  idolatry 
here,  for  the  images  of  the  Virgin,  the  Cln-ist,  and  the  saints 
are  by  no  means  equally  and  universally  worshipped,  but  par- 
ticular shrines  and  figures  are  devoutly  frequented  and  adored. 
For  instance,  there  is,  in  the  Church  of  Saii  Augostino,  a  large 
yellow  Virgin,  supposed  to  have  once  been  a  Juno,  who  enjoys 
an  unprecedented  popv^arity.  She  blazes  from  head  to  foot 
with  real  gems  of  great  value,  —  tiara,  earrings,  necklace, 
stomacher,  bracelets,  rings,  —  while  her  shrine  is  the  richest. in 
Rome.  It  glitters  with  ever}'^  variety  of  ornament,  in  gold, 
silver,  and  precious  stones,  and  looks  for  all  the  world  like  a 
jeweller's  shop.  The  right  foot  of  this  holy  Mary,  nee  Juno, 
lias  lately  been  incased  in  bronze,  having  been  worn  down  by 
the  kisses  of  her  grateful  or  supplicating  worshippers.  But 
to  return. 

I  was  much  interested  in  observing  the  various  groups  of 
peasants  who  thronged  the  steps  of  the  Capitol,  in  their  gay, 
festive  dresses,  infinitely  varied,  and  many  of  them  picturesque 
in  the  extreme.  Most  striking  of  all  were  the  iiiffarari  — 
wild-looking  musicians  from  the  mountains,  who  came  down 
to  Rome  for  the  Christmas  season. 

O,  the  eyes  of  this  people  !  great,  deep,  melancholy,  be- 
wildering. You  behold  them  with  an  ever-unsatisfied  interest, 
you  lose  yourself  in  the  vain  efforts  to  read  a  soul  life  within 
them,  finding  yourself  groping  in  void  darkness — or  you 
shrink  with  something  of  fear  from  the  quick,  sudden  flashing 
of  their  passionate  fire.  Wherever  you  go,  you  meet  these 
orbs  of  light  and  night,  eyes  in  which  good  and  evil  passions 
slumber  together  in  dreamy  indolence,  or  contend  in  a  strife 
of  terrible  beauty  —  eyes  into  which  an  angel  might  look,  and 
loue  heaven,  believing  he  saw  it  there  —  eyes  into  which  a 


192  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

little  child  might  look,  and  dream  of  a  hell  of  which  he  had 
never  heard. 

They  are  never  cold,  or  indifferent,  or  unsympathetic.  They 
peem  almost  always  to  mirror  the  sentiment  of  the  place  in 
which  you  behold  them.  Among  the  old  fallen  temples  and 
palaces,  the  solemn  and  desolate  spirit  of  ruin  seems  to  look 
forth  from  them ;  and  beside  the  sparkling  fountains,  and  out 
on  the  pleasant  Campngna,  they  laugh  back  the  sunshine  with 
an  added  splendor. 

We  lately  spent  a  day  at  Albano,  driving  out  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  returning  at  night.  Tliis  excursion  was  one  of  the 
things  to  be  remembered  till  death  chills  the  heart  against  all 
the  joy  of  life,  and  the  grave  sluits  out  all  the  light  of  beauty. 
We  passed  the  lovely  Fountain  of  Trevi,  the  Forum  of  Tra- 
jan, the  Coliseum,  whicli  looked  less  desolate  and  more  grandly 
beautiful  than  ever,  with  the  glory  of  a  matchless  morning 
pouring  through  its  mighty  arches  —  past  the  splendid  Church 
of  St.  John  Lateran,  and  that  lofty  Egyptian  obelisk  that  stands 
near  it,  which  dates  back  to  the  Pharaohs,  and  may  have  cast 
its  slender  shadow  upon  the  royal  pomp  of  Cleopatra  —  out  of 
the  noble  Porta  Maggiore,  on  to  the  Albano  road  which  leads 
past  the  ancient  aqueducts,  in  sight  of  the  old  Appian  Way, 
the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella,  and  many  a  lonely  hill  of  undis- 
tinguishable  ruin,  and  through  a  picturesque  part  of  the  Cam- 
pagna.  There  was  notliing  to  vary  the  utter  loneliness  of 
that  vast,  regal  domain  of  desolation,  save  an  occasional  group 
of  peasants,  or  a  drove  of  the  magnificent  Italian  cattle,  milk 
white  or  silver  gray,  the  only  form  of  physical  life,  it  seems 
to  me,  which  has  not  degenerated  since  the  old  heathen  ages, 
when  the  gods  did  not  disdain  to  merge  for  a  while  their 
divinity  in  beef,  and  don  hoofs  and  horns,  for  the  better  carry- 
ing out  of  their  pleasant  little  adventures  —  when  the  very 
head  of  all  the  gods  became  a  head  of  cattle,  and  grazed  • 
among  the  herds  of  Ageuor  —  when  the  immortal  Thunderer 


A.   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  1^3 

descended  from  the  heights  of  Olympus  to  the  Phoenician 
plains,  and  laid  aside  his  bolts,  to  bolt  with  Europa. 

The  day  was  throughout  delighiful  beyond  compare,  and  wc 
were  charmed  with  the  site  and  scenery  of  Albano.  Ah,  if  I 
could  have  had  at  my  side  the  friends  my  heart  holds  most 
dear,  what  soul  out  of  paradise  had  been  happier  than  I? 
But  as  it  was,  one  cloud,  visible  to  my  eyes  alone,  saddened 
that  heaven  of  transcendent  beauty,  and  the  murmurs  of  a 
lieart  un^^atisfied  would  make  themselves  heard  above  the 
sweet  sighing  of  the  pines  and  the  silver  rustling  of  the  pop- 
lars and  olives  under  whose  shade  I  strolled.  We  walked  for 
miles  over  the  hills,  through  the  quietest  and  loveliest  ways 
imaginable  ;  we  found  flowers  and  butterflies,  and  dined  on  the 
green  turf  of  a  sunny  slope,  overlooking  the  beautiful  Lake  of 
Albano.  Yet,  in  the  height  of  this  out-door  enjoyment,  I 
thought,  with  a  shiver,  of  my  dear  home  friends,  in  the  midst 
of  their  dreary,  leafless  winter,  surrounded  by  frost  and  snow, 
besieged  by  tempests,  and  howled  at  by  fierce  winds. 

Yesterday  we  went  out  the  Porta  Maggiore,  and  rode  for 
some  hours  along  the  line  of  the  ruins  of  the  Claudian  aque- 
duct. The  day  was  superb,  our  horses  were  fleet ;  we  were 
confined  to  no  road  or  beaten  track,  but  passed  in  and  out  of  the 
arches,  and  coursed  over  the  green  flowery  turf  for  miles.  Ha, 
it  was  glorious  !  We  remained  without  the  walls  till  the  sunset 
hour ;  and  then,  0  then,  the  very  glory  of  God  seemed  break- 
ing through  the  floor  of  heaven,  and  flooding  the  earth.  The 
dark,  gigantic  arches  of  the  aqueducts,  and  the  ruins  of  old 
towers  and  villas,  stood  out  grandly  in  that  gorgeous  light, 

the  purple  Alban   hills,  and  the   lovely  undulations,  and  wide 

•* 

sweeps  of  green  and  brown,  of  that  wondrous  Campagna,  and, 
above  all,  that  sky  of  skies,  with  its  exquisite  tints,  and  infinite 
shades,  and  inconceivable  brightness,  made  me  thrill,  as  I  gazed, 
from  head  to  foot  with  shocks  of  intense  pleasure,  and  almost 
to  reel  incny  saddle  with  the  intoxication  of  sight. 
17 


194  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS. 

"We  go  almost  always,  before  breakfast,  to  meet  the  mornins; 
on  the  noble  Monte  Pmcio.  We  have  found  out  some  pleasant 
walks  beyond  the  Porta  del  Popolo,  which  is  nearest  us ;  one 
along  the  Tiber  is  an  especial  favorite  with  us  for  its  line 
views.  We  sometimes  attend  vespers  at  the  Trinita  de  Monte, 
a  church  on  the  Pincio,  when  the  sweet  singing  of  the  nuns  is 
enough  to  break  one's  heart  by  an  indefinable  something  which 
is  more  than  sadness,  and  only  less  than  despair.  It  seems  to 
me  but  the  melodious  wail  of  renunciation,  of  loneliness,  of 
love  in  crucifixion. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Cheistmas  and  New  Year's  Ceremonies.  —  The  Holy  Cradlb.  — 
High  Mass  at  St.  Peter's.  —  The  Pope.  —  Cardinal  Antinelli. 
—  Te   Deum    at    the    Gesu.  —  Jewish    Synagogue.  —  The   Cam* 

PAGNA.  —  DORIA     AND     CoRSINI   PaLACES.  —  PORTRAIT   OF    LuCREZIA 

Borgia.  —  Monastery  of  St.  Onofrio.  —  Tomb  of  Tasso.  —  Propa- 
gandist College.  —  ^\rt.  —  Modern  Artists.  —  Overbeck.  — 
Tenerani.  —  Steinhauser.  —  Gibson.  —  Miss  Hosmer. 

January  3, 1853. 

The  Christmas  and  new  year's  holidays  in  Rome  have 
been  something  to  be  long  and  pleasantly  remembered  by 
me  ;  not  alone  for  their  novel  and  splendid  ceremonies,  but  for 
the  delicious  weather  we  have  had  through  all  —  sunlight  as 
brilliant  as  that  of  summer,  moonlight  absolutely  entrancing, 
loveliness  and  soft  airs  every  where.  Every  day,  as  it  dawned, 
crowned  with  celestial  glory,  and  garnished  with  beauty  inex- 
pressible, seemed  fit  for  the  birthday  of  a  God, 

On  Christmas  eve  we  witnessed  some  grand  ceremonies  at 
the  Church  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore.  This  is  one  of  the 
most  magnificent  of  the  basilicas,  and  the  first  view  of  its  il- 
luminated interior  almost  struck  one  back  with  the  blaze  of  its 
inconceivable  splendor.  We  could  see  nothing  for  a  moment 
but  the  innumerable  lights,  the  silver,  and  gold,  and  crimson, 
the  floating  clouds  of  incense,  and  a  vast  crowd  of  people,  sol- 
diers, and  priests.  But  presently  we  perceived  that  a  proces- 
sion was  slowly  moving  round  the  church.  It  was  the  Pope, 
borne  aloft  in  his  chair  of  state,  arrayed  in  his  pontifical  robes 
of  white  and  gold,  with  two  immense  fans  of  white  plumes 
nodding  statelily,  one  on   either  side  of  his  head.     He   sat  a 

(195) 


196  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

little  unsteadily,  and  looked,  I  thought,  rather  nervous  at  liij 
elevation  ;  but  he  never  ceased  to  scatter,  devoutly  and  be- 
nignantly,  his  blessing,  right  and  left,  upon  the  crowd,  most  of 
whom  knelt  to  receive  the  invisible  baptism. 

Nothinsf  can  be  finer  than  the  sudden  kneelinor  of  the  Swiss 
guard  and  the  Guardia  Nobile  ;  they  always  go  down  with 
such  a  gallant  tossing  of  plumes,  and  such  a  ringing  clang  of 
swords  and  halberds,  as  though  challenging  the  world  for  their 
magnificent,  old,  warlike  faith.  There  is  more  in  that  sound 
than  the  clang  of  steel  against  marble ;  something  heroic, 
chivalrous,  crusader-like  —  something  quite  indescribable,  but 
which  makes  the  heart  beat  bravely,  and  thrills  one  from  head 
to  foot. 

After  listening  to  the  music  and  witnessing  some  incompre- 
hensible rites  for  about  half  an  hour,  we  went  to  a  side  chapel 
to  see  the  famous  and  most  holy  relic  of  the  true  cradle. 

At  the  entrance,  before  we  were  aware,  we  found  ourselves 
in  an  absolutely  ferocious  crowd.  Such  fierce  pushing  and 
elbowing,  such  desperate  assaults  and  ignominious  repulses,  I 
never  before  witnessed.  Torn  away  from  my  companions,  I 
at  one  time  gave- myself  up  for  lost,  believing  that  I  must  ren- 
der my  last  sigh  in  a  melee  of  devout  Catholics  and  sightseeing 
heretics,  the  victim  alike  of  fanatic  superstition  and  frantic  curi- 
osity. A  soldier  of  the  Swiss  guard  was  stationed  at  the  door, 
and  allowed  but  one  or  two  to  pass  at  a  time.  I  must  admit  that 
this  stern  and  dreadful  man  at  arras  was  no  servile  respecter  of 
persons,  but  treated  all  hapless  cradle  seekers  with  the  same  in- 
flexible brutality.  He  even  seized  upon  an  enterprizing  young 
priest,  in  full  robes,  thrust  his  reverence  back,  shook  him  till  his 
6cull-cap  fell  off  and  the  holy  man  was  purple  with  unsanctified 
ire.  I  would  give  something  to  know  what  penance  was  imposed 
for  this  sacrilegious  attack,  this  rude  laying  on  of  unconse- 
crated  hands.  At  last,  when  quite  in  despair,  we  were 
admitted,  by  order  of  an  officer  who  happened  to  know  one 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  197 

of  our  party,  passed  the  Swiss  dragon  in  safety,  and  soon 
found  ourselves  standing  before  what  we  were  told  were  the 
miraculously  preserved  remnants  of  the  cradle  in  which  Mary 
once  rocked  the  infant  Christ.  In  an  immense  case,  a  sort  of 
casket  of  gold  and  glass,  are  kept  these  wonderful  relics  —  two 
or  three  pieces  of  old  wood,  worraeaten,  and  partly  decayed. 
There  is  nothing  in  their  form  to  indicate  that  they  were  ever 
parts  of  any  thing  like  a  cradle  ;  and  so  altogether  rough  and 
clumsy  are  they,  that  I  found  more  natural  than  irreverent  the 
remark  of  a  jocose  Englishman  who  stood  near  us,  "  Well, 
all  1  have  to  say  is,  St.  Joseph  seems  to  have  been  but  a  bad 
carpenter." 

Yet  I  saw  women  clasp  their  hands,  and  burst  into  tears,  at 
the  sight  of  these  formless  pieces  of  wood,  and  brutal  soldiers 
fall  on  their  knees,  with  their  hard  faces  softened  with  some- 
thing like  reverence  and  devotion,  and  with  their  stupid  eyes 
glistening  with  a  ray  of  something  like  soul. 

We  afterwards  saw  the  procession  of  the  cradle  —  these 
relics,  borne  in  their  golden  case,  under  a  gorgeous  canopy,  to 
the  high  altar,  followed  by  the  Pope  and  cardinals,  with  much 
chanting  of  monks  and  flaring  of  tapers.  We  went  from  this 
scene  of  pomp  and  puerility,  of  priestly  parade  and  theatrical 
show,  to  the  Coliseum,  which  seemed,  by  contrast,  more  un- 
approachably grand,  more  awful  in  its  immensity,  more  solemn 
in  age  and  ruin,  than  ever  before. 

As  we  wandered  about  its  vast  arena,  we  thought  the  night 
far  lighter  and  lovelier  here  than  elsewhere  ;  the  brightest 
stars  seemed  clustered  above  it  —  we  almost  felt  that  all  was 
darkness  without,  such  wondrous  starry  radiance  was  im- 
prisoned there,  so  brimming  was  it  with  moonlight. 

After  leaving  the  Coliseum,  we  attended  midnight  mass  in 

one  of  the   churches  on   the   Corso,  where,  at  one  time,   we 

heard  music  so  worldly  and  waltz-like   in   character,  that   for 

a  moment  I  half  believed  it  to  be  one  of  the  ceremonies  to 

17* 


198  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS     OF 

dance  the  old  dispensation  out  and  the  new  one  in  —  almost 
expected  to  see  some  of  the  devout  choosing  partners,  and 
whirling  about  among  tlte  pilbirs.  I  assure  you,  the  effect  of 
Buch  music  in  sucli  a  place  was  strange  and  unsolemnizing 
beyond  «lescription.  Some  of  our  party  were  enterprising 
enough  to  ''  make  a  night  of  it,"  by  attending  three  o'clock 
mass  at  St.  Peter's.  But  as  for  me,  though  the  spirit  was 
willing,  the  flesh,  after  all  the  fatigues  of  the  day  and  night, 
was  so  decidedly  weak,  that  I  was  glad  to  creep  into  ray 
bed,  and  forget,  in  earthly  slumber  and  most  human  dreams, 
churches  and  chanting,  cowled  friers  and  lace-robed  priests, 
red-gowned  cardinals,  and  even  tlie  good  old- womanly  Pope 
himself.  By  the  way,  speaking  of  His  Holiness,  I  never  see 
him  without  feeling  the  utter  absurdity  of  his  standing  in  the 
place  of  St.  Peter  —  the  pious  good  nature,  the  easy,  indolent 
benevolence,  the  sort  of  lax  benignity  of  his  face  are  so  little 
in  character  with  the  boldness,  the  fire,  the  hastiness,  and  etn- 
portement  of  that  noble  yet  somewhat  too  impulsive  disciple. 
But  when  I  think  of  the  generous  promises  made  to  Freedom 
a  few  years  ago,  and  see  how  they  have  been  kept,  I  am  re- 
minded of  that  one  unfortunate  period  in  the  life  of  the  great 
Papal  prototype,  when  courage,  and  truth,  and  honor  failed 
him,  and  he  denied  his  divine  Master  in  the  hour  of  his 
extremity. 

This  one  abandoned,  if  he  did  not  deny,  the  great  truth  of 
human  freedom,  in  which  Christ  now  lives,  in  its  hour  of 
utmost  need;  and  if  all  could  be  known,  I  believe  we  should 
find  that,  like  the  other,  he  has  not  ceased  to  weep  and  repent 
since  the  Gallic  cock  crowed  over  his  weakness  and  dishonor. 

On  Christmas  morning  we  attended  high  mass  at  St.  Peter's 
—  a  scene  and  a  ceremony  which  seems  yet  to  blaze  on  my 
memory,  and  crowd  my  mind  with  forms  and  colors  of  inde- 
scribable splendor.  The  sight  commenced  at  the  entrance  of 
the  grand  coloiuiades  in  front  of  the  church,  where  the  beautiful 


A    TOUR    IN    EUKOPE.  199 

fountains  playing  in  the  rich  sunshine  of  a  perfect  day,  the 
magnitleent  equipages  of  the  cardinals,  officers  of  state,  and 
foreign  ministers,  soldiers  and  guards  in  brilliant  uniforms, 
and  the  mighty  old  church  itself,  constituted  a  scene  on  which 
one  could  be  content  to  gaze  for  hours.  The  interior  was 
gorgeous  and  wonderful  to  behold.  The  immense  nave,  usually 
looking  almost  dreary  and  deserted,  was  now  filled  with  a 
vast  crowd,  infinitely  varied  by  rich  or  picturesque  costumes, 
draped,  decorated,  illuminated ;  while  grand  organ  melodies 
were  swelling  through  the  arches,  and  strong,  clear  voices 
went  circling  up  into  the  majestic  dome. 

We  were  seated  on  a  platform  near  the  altar,  in  full  view 
of  the  Pope  and  all  the  august  ceremonials.  Of  the  latter  I 
understood  but  few,  and  perhaps,  for  this  reason,  most  of  them 
appeared  to  me  puerile,  absurd,  or,  at  the  best,  highly  theatrical. 
There  was  much  going  back  and  forth  between  the  altar  and 
the  Papal  throne,  much  kissing  of  the  Papal  toe,  mucli  bless- 
ing of  tapers  and  swinging  of  censers,  and  countless  other 
parades,  pomps,  forms,  and  imposing  mysteries.  There  was 
one  portion  of  the  ceremonies  which  struck  me  as  a  beautiful 
piece  of  art,  producing  a  highly-wrought  dramatic  effect.  This 
was  at  the  elevation  of  the  Host  by  the  Pope,  when  nearly  all 
of  that  vast  concourse  having  dropped  on  their  knees,  the  sole 
music  heard  was  a  peal  of  silver  trumpets,  which  seemed  sent 
forth  by  invisible  players,  and  stole  through  the  church,  and 
swelled  up  into  the  dome  in  strains  of  ineffable  joy  and  tri- 
umph —  grand,  mysterious,  and  only  not  awful  because  sc 
inexpressibly  sweet  and  melodious.  I  could  think  of  nothing 
but  the  music  of  the  spheres  with  which  to  compare  it;  and  to 
the  Divinity  in  whose  praise  the  stars  broke  forth  in  singing, 
and  whose  spirit  breathes  ever  in  grand  melodious  sound,  to 
the  God  of  the  celestial  harmonies,  I  instinctively  bent  the 
knee.  I  then  felt  to  a  wonderful  degree  the  magnetism  of 
worship,  emanating  from  the  kneeling  ci'owd  around  me,  and 


200  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

for  a  few  moments  no  devoutest  Catholic  could  have  responded 
more  unresistingly  and  reverently  to  all  those  solemn  appeals 
to  the  senses.  To  my  eyes,  the  beauty  and  gorgeousness  of" 
the  scene  grew  most  fitting  and  holy ;  with  the  incense  floating 
to  me  from  the  altar,  I  seemed  to  breathe  in  a  subtile,  subduing 
spirit  ;  and  to  that  music  my  heart  hushed  itself  in  my  breast, 
my  very  pulses  grew  still,  and  my  brain  swam  in  a  new,  half- 
sensuous,  half-spiritual  emotion.  F'or  a  moment  I  believe  I 
understood  the  faith  of  the  Roman  Catholic  —  for  a  moment  I 
seemed  to  taste  the  ecstasy  of  the  mystic,  to  burn  with  the 
fervor  of  the  devotee,  and  felt,  in  wonder  and  in  fear,  all  the 
poetry,  mystery,  and  power  of  the  church.  Suddenly  rose 
before  my  mind  vivid  wayside  and  seaside  scenes  —  pictures 
of  humblest  Judean  life,  when  the  "  meek  and  lowly  "  Author 
of  our  faith  walked,  ministering,  and  teaching,  and  comforting, 
among  the  people  —  humblest  among  the  humble,  poorest 
among  the  poor,  most  sorrowful  among  the  sorrowful,  preach- 
ing peace,  good  will,  purity,  humility,  and  freedom  —  and  then, 
all  this  magnificent  mockery  of  the  divine  truths  he  taught, 
this  armed  and  arrogant  spiritual  despotism,  in  the  place  of  the 
peace  and  liberty  of  his  gospel,  faded  from  before  my  disen- 
chanted eyes,  and  even  my  ear  grew  dull  to  that  pomp  of 
sound,  swelling  up  as  though  to  charm  his  ear  against  the  sighs 
of  the  poor  and  the  groanings  of  the  captive. 

O  Cleopatra  of  religions  !  throned  in  power,  glowing  and 
gorgeous  in  all  imaginable  splendors  and  luxuries  —  proud 
victor  of  victors  —  in  the  ''infinite  variety"  of  thy  resources 
and  enchantments  more  attractive  than  glory,  resistless  as  fate 

—  now  terrible  in  the  dusk  splendor  of  thy  imperious  beauty 

—  now  softening  and  subtile  as  moonlight,  and  music,  and 
poet-dreams  —  insolent  and  humble,  stormy  and  tender !  O 
alluring  tyranny,  O  beautiful  falsehood,  O  fair  and  fatal 
enchantress,  O  sovereign  sorceress  of  the  world !  the  end  is 
not  yet,  and  the  day  may  not  be  far  distant,  when  thou  shall 
lay  the  asp  to  thine  own  bosom,  and  die. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  201 

I  ever  watched  with  keen  interest  the  movements  of  Anti- 
Tielli  throughout  those  ceremonies.  Ah,  it  is  a  right  kingly 
spirit,  in  the  sense  of  pride,  arrogance,  and  absolutism.  There 
is  an  air  of  domination  in  his  bearing,  an  almost  intolerable 
haughtiness  in  his  eye,  which  remind  me  of  Queen  Katha- 
rine's character  of  AVolsey.  I  have  never  seen  so  grand  a 
walk  as  his.  It  is  proud  and  firm,  yet  light,  and  full  of 
statelv  grace.  He  treads  like  a  conqueror  to  majestic  music, 
and  yet  with  an  indescribable  softness,  almost  stealthiness,  of 
movement.  You  could  fancy  the  step  as  noiseless  as  "that  of 
Mephistophiles. 

Finally,  amid  light,  and  music,  and  magnificence  absolutely 
dazzling,  the  Pope  was  borne  forth  in  his  chair,  followed  by 
the  most  gorgeous  procession  I  ever  beheld.  High  officers  of 
the  church  and  state,  in  crimson,  scarlet,  purple,  and  gold  — 
symbols  of  authority  celestial  and  terrestrial,  crosses,  crosiers, 
tiara,  —  sword  the  foreign  legation,  the  Guardia  Nobile  in  their 
rich  uniforms,  the  picturesque  Swiss  guard  —  in  all,  it  seemed 
to  me  as  brilliant  and  gallant  a  sight  as  the  world  could  show. 
As  they  swept  slowly  down  the  nave,  the  midday  sun  poured 
in  upon  them  from  one  of  the  great  windows  with  resplendent 
effect.  The  Pope  stayed  his  blessings  for  an  instant,  to  shade 
his  eyes  with  his  hand,  while  the  gold  and  jewels  on  his  robes 
seemed  to  leap  out  in  flame,  and  the  arms  and  helmets  of  his 
guards  blazed  back  the  hot  challenge  of  the  sun. 

On  this  morning  we  had  seen  the  royal  pomp,  the  most 
patrician  and  recherche  splendor,  of  the  Papal  religion — in 
the  afternoon  we  went  among  the  people,  to  behold  its  plebeian 
aspect.  At  the  Church  of  the  Ara  Ca3li  we  saw  what  among 
the  peasants  is  the  great  lion  of  the  season  —  a  chapel  arranged 
as  a  manger,  with  wax  figures  of  Joseph  and  Mary,  and  of  an 
infant  Christ  lying  in  a  cradle,  swaddled  in  the  Italian  style, 
ci«owned  and  decorated  with  very  suspicious-looking  jewelry. 
In    the  bi  ckground,  among  some  admirably-painted  scenery. 


'202  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

were  sheep  aild  shepherds  —  in  the  foreground  other  shep* 
herds,  grouped  about  the  cradle  in  fitting  postures  of  adoration. 
Above  the  manger,  on  a  sort  of  cloudy  loft,  were  clustered  a 
company  of  angels  and  cherubs,  looking  benignly  animated  and 
celestially  curious.  At  intervals  you  heard  singing,  which  was 
supposed  to  come  from  this  winged  choir,  but  which,  besides 
being  in  Latin,  which  one  can  scarcely  accept  as  the  tongue 
angelic,  had  about  it  a  monkish  harshness  and  nasal  twang 
which  rather  interfered  with  the  solemn  illusion.  But  the 
effect  of  the  scene  was.  on  the  whole,  decidedly  striking.  It 
is  true,  the  entire  holy  family  and  the  shepherds  were  fig- 
ures to  have  driven  a  Toussaud  frantic  —  which  even  a  Jar- 
ley  would  have  disowned  with  virtuous  indignation.  It  is  true, 
the  cherubs  and  angels  were  rather  too  plump  and  able  bod- 
ied, but  the  sheep  were  chefs  d'ceuvre. 

At  this  church  we  also  witnessed  the  Christmas  preaching 
by^children,  probably  in  commemoration  of  Christ's  teaching 
in  the  temple.  The  preachers  on  this  occasion  were  two 
small  girls,  who  were  hoisted  upon  an  improvised  pulpit,  and 
held  forth,  one  after  another,  in  a  hurried,  jjarrot-like  dis- 
course. I  regret  to  say  that  these  reverend  little  misses 
seemed  to  have  a  very  inadequate  realization  of  the  solemnity 
of  the  occasion,  or  of  the  responsibilities  of  their  "  high  pro- 
fession spiritual,"  and  were  evidently  too  much  occupied  with 
the  curious  crowd  about  them  to  deliver  their  discourse  with 
fitting  power  and  unction. 

On  new  year's  eve,  I  heard  the  Te  Deum  at  the  magnifi- 
cent Church  of  tlie  Jesuits.  The  Pope  was  present,  and  per- 
formed some  imposing  ceremonies.  But  this  time  I  felt  them 
little  —  felt  nothing  but  the  glorious  music,  which  was  sur- 
passingly sweet,  solemn,  and  grand  —  alternately  casting 
down  the  soul  into  depths  of  humiliation  and  sorrow,  and  u})- 
lifting  it  to  sublime  heights  of  hope  and  thanksgiving.  • 

As  I  was  returning  from  this  church,  I  encountered  a  masked 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  203 

penitent,  begging  for  the  church  or  the  poor.  He  wore  a  robe 
of  coarse  white  linen,  girded  with  a  heavy  rope  —  the  cowl 
covered  his  face,  nnerely  having  small  holes  for  the  mouth  and 
oyes.  He  was  of  a  tall,  soldierly  figure ;  his  eyes  were  dark 
and  flashing;  the  hand  he  extended  for  charity,  and  his 
roughly-sandalled  feet,  were  white  and  delicate.  He  was  prob- 
ably a  noble,  as  none  but  the  highest-bred  sinners,  the  most 
patrician  transgressors,  are  permitted  thus  to  take  the  edge  off 
their  penance,  which,  losing  all  humiliation,  can  but  at  the  worst 
be  regarded  as  a  solemn  bore,  and  may  possibly  be  relieved 
at  times  by  adventures  more  or  less  piquant  and   amusing. 

In  our  wallvs  along  the  Tiber  we  occasionally  meet  the  Pope, 
driving,  preceded  and  followed  by  a  small  detachment  of  the 
Guardia  Nobile.  It  is  expected  that  all  in  His  Holiness's  way 
shall  reverently  kneel  —  those  in  carriages  and  on  horseback 
descending  and  dismounting  for  the  purpose.  But,  though  we 
only  bow  with  the  respect  due  to  his  aj:e  and  state  as  a  sover- 
eign, he  always  blesses  us  as  benignly  as  he  blesses  those  who 
kneel  most  devoutly  in  the  most  unfavorable  places,  laying 
their  souls  and  their  silks  in  the  dust  before  him  ;  perhaps 
more  benignly,  in  saintly  commiseration  for  our  unregenerate 
condition. 

On  a  Saturday  morning,  lately,  I  visited  several  of  the 
Jewish  synagogues  in  the  Ghetto  with  a  Hebrew  gentleman 
of  our  acquaintance.  I  found  the  synagogues  to  differ  from 
one  another  only  in  size  and  decoration  —  the  ceremonies  were 
the  same.  All  were  filled  with  serious  if  not  devout  worship- 
pers. Among  these  I  saw  many  a  sharp,  repulsive  face, 
marked  by  the  hardest  and  worst  Jewish  characteristics  — 
cunning,  avaricious,  pitiless ;  but  I  also  saw  some  of  the  most 
magnificent  and  noble-looking  men  and  beautiful  lads  I  ever 
beheld.  No  women  were  present.  On  entering,  evevy  man 
arraytjd  himself  in  a  scarf  of  white   silk   or  barege,  striped 


204  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

witli  blue,  first  kissing  the  fringe,  and  pressing  it  against  his 
eyes.  The  priests  wore  high  black  caps,  and  read  prajera 
and  psalms  from  an  immense  pulpit  or  altar.  Of  the  ceremo- 
nies, which  were  exceedingly  simple,  I  remember  two  as  deeply 
impressive  —  the  bringing  forth  of  the  Bible  from  its  rich 
sanctuary,  and  the  bearing  it  about  the  synagogue,  when  all 
ki-ised  it  with  evident  emotion  —  and  the  solemn,  simultaneous 
bltssing  which  at  one  period  of  the  service  the  fathers  who 
had  sons  present  bestowed  ;  turning  towards  the  east,  lifting 
the  eyes  to  heaven,  and  laying  the  right  hand  on  the  head  of 
the  young  man,  the  youth,  or  the  little  boy.  On  the  whole, 
the  ceremonies,  though  mostly  coldly  conducted,  were  touch- 
ing and  mournfully  suggestive. 

January  8. 
Gypsy-like  as  I  have  ever  been  in  my  propensities,  I  never 
had  such  an  uncontrollable  passion  for  out-door  life  and  its 
pleasures  as  I  have  in  Rome.  Our  house,  hemmed  in  and 
towered  over  by  other  houses,  is  rather  dark  and  chill  at  this 
season;  and  I  cannot  resist  the  inviting  sunshine  of  more 
open  places  —  the  sunshine  which  here  is  softer  and  more 
vivifying  than  elsewhere  —  which  kindles  and  keeps  a  June 
bloom  in  the  hearts  of  January  roses  —  w^hich  transmutes  the 
leaden  Tiber  into  a  flowing  sheet  of  gold  —  which  kisses  a 
flush  of  life  and  beauty  into  the  dead  face  of  ruin  and  decay. 
I  have  a  pleasure  indescribable  and  inexhaustible  in  my  morn- 
ing walks  on  the  Pincio,  tasting  the  early  air,  a  little  keen  and 
frosty  nowadays,  and  looking  down  upon  the  noble  old  city, 
almost  every  interesting  point  of  which  is  in  view.  St.  Pe- 
ter's shows  grandly  from  here,  with  its  vast  dome  blazing  with 
light.  I  witness  all  the  sunsets  from  some  one  of  the  seven 
hills  —  from  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  from  the  ruins,  or  out  on 
the  Campagna.  We  rode,  a  day  or  two  since,  out  the  Porta 
Maggiore,  and  across  the  plain,  to  the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Meteila, 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  205 

and  the  Circus  of  Romulus,  and  on  to  the  old  Appian  Waj; 
every  stone  of  which  is  eloquent  of  the  heroic  past;  returning 
just  after  sunset,  absolutely  oppressed  and  bewildered  with  the 
matchless,  dreamy,  desolate  beauty  of  that  wondrous  Campagna, 
and  of  the  more  wondrous  heaven  above  it.  O,  the  glory 
of  the  sunlight  on  the  gorgeous  Alban  hills !  How  that  mel- 
low warmth  seemed  to  clasp  them  in  love !  I  felt,  as  I  gazed, 
that  it  must  stream  through  their  chill  watery  veins,  and  pene- 
trate their  rocky  hearts,  and  wake  the  sleeping  light  in  the 
gems  embedded  there. 

In  no  other  country,  I  am  sure,  do  earth  and  heaven  seem 
so  in  love  with  each  other  as  here.  The  sky  never  seems  to 
shut  down  sharply  upon  the  earth  at  the  horizon,  but,  with 
infinite  and  exquisite  shades  of  coloring,  to  draw  near  with  all 
the  soft  approaches  of  love  ;  while  the  ground,  gently  undulat- 
ing, seems  to  lift  itself  to  blend  with  the  sky.  The  hills  do  not 
tower  upward  abruptly  and  sternly,  but  rise  in  gradual  slopes, 
as  though  wooing  the  light  dallying  mists  and  lovely  indolent 
clouds  to  repose  on  their  brown  breasts. 

On  our  last  ride  we  went  out  the  Porta  del  Popolo,  and 
took  a  pleasant  by-road,  which  brought  us,  after  many  charm- 
ing windings,  to  a  broad  tract  of  the  Campagna,  on  the  Tiber, 
—  a  plain  as  level  and  dry  as  a  western  prairie  —  where  we 
took  a  wild  galloping  race,  and  several  trotting  matches,  enjoy- 
ing to  the  utmost  the  pure,  free  air,  the  rich,  unobstructed 
sunlight,  and  the  utter  loneliness  of  the  scene.  There  was  in 
view  scarce  a  trace  p^  human  life  ;  all  was  silent  and  solitary 
as  a  desert.  At  a  distance,  across  the  Tiber,  we  could  discern 
a  herd  of  ugly,  black  buffaloes,  and  a  group  of  stately-white 
cattle ;  and  docile  and  domesticated  as  these  doubtless  were, 
there  was  to  our  eyes  something  strange,  and  wild,  and  sav- 
age in  their  aspect.  Once,  as  we  were  riding  there,  a  cloud 
of  white  birds  passed  over  our  heads,  flying  seaward,  and 
looking,  as  they  sailed  slowly  through  the  deep  heaven,  lik« 
18 


206  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

a  fleet  of  fauy  barks,  their  wings  gleaming  like  silver  oara 
in  the  blue  Avaves  of  air. 

Twelfth  Night  was  very  gayly  kept  in  Rome,  It  is  a  season 
of  great  rejoicing  for  the  children,  as  they  then  receive  all 
sorts  of  gifts  from  the  gracious  Baffana,  a  kind  of  fem^ile 
Santa  Claus.  She  is  a  personage  very  generally  and  joyfully 
honored  here  —  the  Corso  is  illuminated  for  her,  and  various 
ceremonies  and  festivities  mark  her  annual  advent. 

The  day  following,  the  Bamhino  was  shown  to  the  people, 
with  much  pomp  and  circumstance,  from  the  steps  of  the  Ara 
Coeli.  This  Bamhino  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  sacred 
doll,  blazing  with  jewels,  the  offerings  of  the  devout,  and 
having  an  unrivalled  reputation  in  the  miracle  line.  A  vast 
<issemblage  of  the  people  fell  on  their  knees  at  the  sight  of  it, 
as  readily  and  reverently  as  they  could  have  prostrated  them- 
selves if  a  shining  angel  of  God  had  descended  into  their 
midst. 

Yesterday  we  visited  the  Doria  and  Corsina  palaces.  The 
former  is  a  beautiful  and  princely  residence,  but  is  not  re- 
markably rich  in  works  of  art.  Though  there  are  in  its 
galleries  several  pictures  by  Guido,  Claude,  Rubens,  Murillo, 
Raphael,  Titian,  and  other  great  masters,  they  are  not  among 
those  masters'  greatest  works.  In  one  of  the  galleries  I  was 
suddenly  arrested  by  the  portrait  of  a  woman,  young  and 
beautiful,  yet  which  seemed  to  fling  down  upon  me  from  tlue 
wall  a  powerful  and  baleful  spell.  Wishing  to  feel  to  the 
utmost,  to  analyze,  and,  if  possible,  to  understand,  this  strange 
and  startling  influence,  I  stood  long  before  the  picture,  without 
looking  at  the  catalogue  to  ascertain  its  name.  It  is  the 
portrait  of  a  woman  in  the  full  bloom  and  ripeness  of  beauty, 
with  a  rich,  glowing  complexion,  auburn  hair,  and  dark-brown 
eyes.  Her  form  is  perfectly  rounded,  her  throat  and  hands 
of  great  beauty,  and  her  dress  royally  luxurious.  But  in  the 
face  I  read,  as  clearly  as  though  they  had  been  set  down  in  a 


A   TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  207 

book,  all  the  most  dark,  and  strange,  and  contradictory  qual- 
ities and  passions  ever  conjrregated  in  one  m.'>rtal  nature,  and 
arrogantly  and  fatally  manifest  in  one  human  imbodimenl. 
Intellect,  keen  and  subtle ;  sensuality,  and  cruelty,  iraperious- 
ness,  revengefuliiess,  voluptuousness,  and  utter  falsehood. 

It  is  the  portrait  of  Lucrezia  Borgia,  by  Giulio  Romano. 

At  the  Ck)rsini  palace  I  saw  a  Madonna  and  child,  by 
Carlo  Dolci,  which  to  my  eye,  or  rather  to  my  soul,  is  the 
finest  picture  of  this  subject  I  ever  beheld.  The  Madonna  is 
most  lovely,  full  of  punty,  with  a  sei'ene  and  noble  yet 
tender  and  womanly  beauty ;  while  (he  child  is,  indeed,  an 
ol>je€t  for  holy  love,  wonder,  and  adoration.  He  lies  asleep, 
with  a  soft,  dewy  dush  u|X)u  his  cheeks  and  lips,  and  with  his 
small  hands  clasped  on  his  breast,  and  you  feel  that  he  is 
visited  by  sweet  dre^iins  of  the  celestial  home  he  has  just  left^ 
You  feel  that  he  is  a  pui'e  iwy  of  the  eteinal  brightness,  sent 
to  light  the  death  darkness  of  eai'lii  —  a  bud  of  the  divine 
life,  sent  to  fill  our  Siid  mortal  being  with  the  breath  of  its 
immortal  sweetness.  You  seem  to  see  tlie  great  God-soul 
throbbing;  and  j2;lowin<i  through  all  the  little  baby  form  ;  and 
slight,  beautiful,  and  tender  as  he  is'  you  read  in  both  face 
and  form,  as  in  "  a  wSure  woixl  of  prophecy,"  all  the  sorrow 
and  grandeur  of  his  mission  of  redemption  —  the  sublime 
abnegation  and  long  suffering  of  his  beneficent  life. 

In  this  palace,  after  her  abdication  and  conversion  to  Roman 
Catholicism,  Queen  Christina,  of  Sweden,  lived  and  died. 
The  room  in  which  the  royal  madwoman  breathed  her  last 
now  forms  part  of  the  picture  gallery.  Standing  within  it,  I 
could  not  feel  quite  cheerful  and  at  peace,  but  was  troubled  as 
by  the  presence  of  her  stormy  and  reckless  spirit. 

Fix)m  the  Corsini  we  went  to  the  Monastery  of  St.  Onofrio, 
where  Tasso  died.  His  tomb  is  shown  in  the  chapel,  marked 
by  a  small  slab  of  white  marble,  bearing  this  simple  inscrip- 
tion—"  Torqvatl  2msi  Ossti" 


208  HAPS    Al^D    MISHAPS    OF 

Into  the  cell  he  occupied,  in  which  a  mask  of  his  face,  taken 
after  death,  is  kept,  no  woman  is  allowed  to  enter,  unless 
by  special  order  of  a  cardinal.  But  we  saw  the  remains  of 
the  gi'eat  poet's  favorite  oak,  and  pilfered  from  it  certain  relicts, 
as  pious  pilgrims  to  the  shrines  of  genius  and  greatness  are 
bound  to  do  ;  my  portion  of  which  poetic  plunder,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  I  lost  before  reaching  home.  I  must  confess  that  I. 
have  usually  little  taste  for  relics  ;  I  cannot  feel  that  I  shall 
ever  need  them  to  recall  scenes  of  beauty  ot  pleasure  to  my 
mind,  or  to  touch  my  heart  with  the  memory  of  the  noble 
dead. 

We  beheld  the  sunset  from  Mount  Janiculum,  which  com- 
mands one  of  the  grandest  and  loveliest  prospects  in  all  Rome. 
O,  what  a  scene  was  that  on  which  we  gazed  !  Those  glori- 
ous Alban  hills  were  overflowed  with  such  floods  of  radiant 
coloring,  that  it  seemed  the  heavenly  fountains  of  light  and 
beauty  must  be  exhausted  —  that  never  again  could  such 
tides. of  gold  and  molten  amethyst  pour  upon  them  from  the 
munificent  skies,  and  enwrap  them  thus  from  summit  to  base. 
Beneath  us  gleamed  countless  spires  and  domes,  with  the 
isilvery  flash  of  fountains,  and  golden  glimpses  of  the  Tiber; 
while  the  vesper  ringing  of  many  bells  came  floating  up  to  us 
on  the  still  and  balmy  air.  At  such  times,  the  religion  of  the 
soul  and  of  the  heart  chime  most  harmoniously  together ; 
then  I  dream  alike  of  friends  and  of  heaven  —  oi'  the  home  I 
have  left,  and  of  that  to  which  we  all  hope  k)  go.  If  tfie 
thought  of  the  hungry  sea,  now  rolling  between  us,  sweeps 
coldly  over  my  heart,  I  am  then  consoled,  O,  inexpressibly, 
by  gazing  upward  into  the  infinite  brightness,  and  remember- 
ing that  land  of  eternal  reunion,  "  where  there  shall  be  no 
more  sea." 

Jai^uary  9. 

I  have  just  returned  from  the  Accademia  di  Lingue,  or 
Propagandist  College,  where  I  have  witnessed  a  \ery  curious 


A   TOUR    1^    kUROPE.  209 

flight,  and  been  deeply  interested  in  listening,  without  com- 
prehending. I  saw  there  students  from  all  the  nations  of  the 
earth,  and  beard  speaking  and  chanting  in  forty  dilFerent  lan- 
guages. It  was  a  strange,  Babel-like  scene,  I  assure  you,  and 
impressed  me  more  with  the  energy,  vigilance,  power,  and 
fostering  care  of  the  church  tlian  any  thing  I  have  yet  seen. 

For  some  time  before  the  performance  commenced,  I  was 
occupied  in  regarding  the  faces  of  the  students,  which  furnished 
a  fine  study  of  physiognomy  and  national  characteristics. 
There  were  all  shades  of  complexion  —  from  the  Ethiopian 
to  the  Norwegian,  from  the  American  to  the  Burmese.  But 
when  they  began  speaking,  I  became  quite  absorbed  in  the 
study  of  sound.  I  saw  the  visage  of  the  speaker  in  his  voice, 
and  the  strange,  uncomprehended  words  had  power  to  conjure 
up  for  me  scenes  of  far  and  unknown  lands,  beautiful  or  bar- 
baric. In  the  sweet,  sonorous  Persian  I  had  most  delight. 
There  is  a  sentiment  in  its  sound,  luxurious  and  dreamily  pas- 
sionate, vague,  and  mysterious.  The  Turkish  and  Arabic  par- 
take of  these  indescribable  qualities,  and  the  voices  of  the 
speakers  in  all  these  Oriental  languages  gave  out  something 
wild  and  grand  in  the  high  tones,  while  their  low  tones  were 
like  whisperings  of  hate  or  fear,  or  like  Passion  murmuring 
in  sleep.  The  African  tongues  are  rude,  warlike,  and  bar- 
baric in  sound  ;  those  of  Northern  Europe  are  cold,  strong, 
and  rugged ;  while  nothing  can  be  more  mellow  and  tender, 
and  deliciously  dreamy,  than  those  of  the  south. 

I  am  writing  to-night  by  the  light  of  a  lamp  taken  not  long 
since  from  the  ruins  of  a  tomb  on  the  Appian  Way,  where  it 
had  been,  'tis  said,  for  two  thousand  years.  How  touching  is 
the  thought  of  its  tender  light  struggling  for  a  while  against 
the  cold,  sepulchral  darkness,  and  shedding  soft  warmth  and 
brightness  about  the  urn  of  the  beloved  dead!  What  tears 
may  have  fallen  on  it,  as  the  mourner  bore  it  slowly  down  the 
steps  of  the  tomb,  to  [)lace  it  on  its  watch  of  light !  I  never 
18* 


210  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

ase  it  without  losing  myself  in  dreamy  conjectures  concerning 
the  dead  whose  tomb  it  once  feebly  illuminated.  Perhaps  that 
urn  held  the  ashes  of  a  youthful  poet,  whose  fine,  aspiring 
spirit  would  have  flam.ed  purely  upward  towards  the  great 
Source  of  light  and  poesy,  but  that  it  was  ever  fated  to  strug- 
gle vainly  against  the  chill  and  heavy  atmosphere  of  an  un- 
congenial world;  perhaps  those  of  a  young  girl,  whose  heart 
burned  itself  away  in  the  weary  night  of  hopeless  love ; 
perhaps  those  of  a  gentle  mother,  whose  life,  loving  and 
serene,  filled  with  cheerful  light  some  happy  home ;  perhaps 
those  of  a  brave  young  brother,  whose  smile  was  warmth  and 
brightness,  battling  away  the  chill  of  want  and  the  shadows 
of  care ;  perhaps  those  of  a  child,  whose  sweet  love  lit  the 
darkness  of  a  widow's  heart  for  a  little  space,  and  then  was 
extinguished  forever.  And  so,  without  end,  dream  gives  birth 
to  dream,  and,  more  wonderful  than  Ahiddin's,  this  lamp  con» 
jures  up,  by  its  pale,  flickering  light,  visions  of  ancient  home 
life,  sad  and  sweet,  and  I  seem  to  hear  death  hymns  which 
were  sung^  and  the  gushing  of  tears  which  fell,  two  thousand 
years  ago. 

Tills  little  relic,  so  mournfully  and  poetically  suggestive,  ia 
the  gift  of  Mr.  Crawford,  whom  we  have  the  honor  to  count 
among  American  sculptors.  I  trust  I  may  be  pardoned  for 
saying  that  I  have  found  some  of  my  greatest,  pleasures,  of 
late,  in  the  acquaintance  I  have  formed  with  him  and  his 
lovely  wife,  and  in  the  society  I  meet  at  his  house.  I  recog- 
nized, as  soon  as  I  passed  his  threshold,  the  genial  atmosphere 
of  a  true  home,  —  breathing  hapjjines^,  refinement,  and  gra- 
cious hospitality, — and  I  have  ever  met  there  a  cordial 
and  manly  courtesy,  and  gentle  womanly  kindness. 

January  15. 
1  am  just  beginning  to  understand  the  source  of  the  strange 
disajjpointment  1   felt  in  first  beiiolding   the   Trauafiguralion 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  211 

and  certain  other  renowned  works  of  Raphael.  Many  of  tlie 
latest  and  noblest  pictures  of  this  great  master  were  painted 
in  part  by  his  pupils,  whose  heavy,  glaring  coloring  is  sadly 
at  variance  with  their  exquisite  composition  and  outlining,  and 
their  high  and  beautiful  sentiment.  There  are  masses  of  ob- 
trusive color  in  the  foreground  of  the  Transfiguration,  which 
have  power  to  distract  the  siglit  from  the  wondrous  central 
glory  itself.  I  speak  but  simple  truth  when  I  say  that  I  have 
had  more  rich  and  reverential  delight  in  studying  fine  outlines 
of  the  works  of  Raphael  in  America  than  I  have  felt  in  look- 
ing at  the  originals  here.  Yet  I  except  A^holly  the  frescoes 
and  cartoons,  whose  imposing  grandeur  is  but  dimly  hinted  at 
in  any  engravings  I  have  yet  seen.  Of  the  former,  the 
School  of  Athens  is  the  object  of  my  most  wondering  and 
boundless  admiration.  Of  Guido  I  have  not  yet  seen  the 
grandest  work,  —  the  Aurora,  —  but  in  his  minor  pictures  I 
take  comparatively  little  delight,  his  coloring  is  so  repulsive  to 
piy  eye.  The  flesh  of  many  of  his  female  figures  seems  to 
me  cold,  livid,  and  of  a  sort  of  puffy  texture,  the  sight  of 
which  gives  me  a  strangely  unpleasant  sensation.  His 
Lucretia,  for  instance,  I  could  fancy  had  been  fed  on  poisons, 
or  reared  in  the  Catacombs.  The  Cenci  has  somewhat  of  this 
peculiar  and  disagreeable  coloring ;  but  you  accept  it,  in  her 
case,  as  the, effect  of  torture,  imprisonment,  and  the  leaden 
horror  of  death.  I  am  aware  that  I  am  laying  myself  open 
to  the  charge  of  presumption  in  speaking  thus  freely  of  one 
of  the  gods  of  art ;  but  I  give  what  I  can  scarcely  call  even 
my  opinions,  but  merely  intuitions  —  confessions,  rather  than 
criticisms.  In  truest  truth,  nothing  can  be  farther  from  my 
heart  than  conceit  or  irreverence,  in  regard  to  Art,  in  this  her 
high  place,  and  on  this  her  holy  ground.  I  never  so  pro- 
foundly felt  my  own  ignorance  of  her  marvellous  mysteries 
and  beautiful  subtleties  —  but  with  reverence,  and  faith,  and 
conscientious  study,  I  hope  yet  to  attain  to  the  art  of  deep  and 


212  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

just  ajjpveciation.  In  the  mean  time,  I  must  chronicle  my  first 
steps,  uncertain  and  often  false  though  thev  be  —  I  must  tell 
ti'ui}'  what  is  truth  and  beauty  for  me  to-day,  though  to-mor- 
row's better  light  and  larger  want  may  prove  its  falsehood  or 
ihsuificiency.  I  sometimes  see  a  work  of  art  which  intoxi- 
cates me  with  the  mere  grace  of  form,  or  seems  to  drown 
thought  and  judgment  in  the  delight  springing  from  mere  beau- 
ty of  coloring  ;  in  which  case  I  am  sure  to  find,  on  a  second 
visit,  that  I  have  drank  the  fountain  dry  at  the  first  eager 
draught  —  and  so  henceforth  that  statue  or  that  picture  has 
notliing  for  me  of  inspiration  or  reality.  Behold  my  simple 
and  sole  test — one  which  cannot  save  me  from  mistakes  and 
extravagances,  but  which,  I  trust,  will  insure  me  against  a 
long  and  content  accej^tance  of  that  which  is  not  nobly  true, 
high,  and  pure  in  art. 

I  lately  visited  the  studio  of  Overbeck,  and  was  impressed 
by  the  peculiar  spirit  of  his  works,  which  dre  in  the  style 
of  the  old  masters,  nearly  all  treating  of  religious  subjects.. 
The  sentiment  of  the  exquisite  drawings  is  ever  tender, 
touching,  and  deeply  devout,  evincing  the  presence  of  a 
sincerely  religious  and  reverential  soul.  His  representa- 
tions of  our  Lord  are  among  the  finest. in  modern  art.  Meek, 
yet  majestic  —  sorrowful,  yet  serene  —  divinely  gracious,  piti- 
ful, and  patient.  I  know  of  none  so  noble,  except  it  be  tiie 
Christus  Consolator  of  Schosffer.  His  Madonnas  are  heavenly 
beautiful,  pure,  and  lender,  and  his  angel  faces  have  an  inetfable 
sweetness  which  touches  and  exalts  the  heart  of  the  gazer. 
But  in  the  powerful  heads  of  some  of  his  apostles,  pharisees, 
high  priests,  and  Roman  soldiers,  is  his  genius  best  displayed. 

Overbeck  himself  has  a^bout  him  an  air  of  almost  solemn 
earnestness,  and  looks  as  though  he  had  watched  and  prayed 
over  his  works  ;  and  in  this  reality  and  depth  of  feeling  lies  the 
justification  of  his  style.  There  can  be  no  affectation  in  his 
painting  in  the  manner  of  tlie  old  religious  masters,  inspired 


A    TOUR    IN    ELROI'E.  213 

as  he  is  by  the  same  devotional  spirit.  But  I  sincerely  hope 
he  may  be  the  last  of  those  who  have  narrowed  a  great  artist 
life  to  the  old  worn-out  ground  —  dedicated  a  glowing  pencil 
to  the  thousand-times  repeated  traditions  of  the  church-— 
monk-cowled  and  cloister-shadowed  a  genius  which  should 
have  had  a  broad  lookout  and  a  free  range  over  the  world. 

In  the  life  of  art,  saints,  Madonnas,  holy  popes,  monks,  an- 
gels, prophets,  and  apostles  have  had  their  day,  and  a  long 
and  glorious  day  it  has  been.  It  is  now  time  that  the  artist 
should  recognize  that  art  should  commemorate  what  is  high 
and  noble,  pure  and  heroic,  in  the  world  of  to-day,  in  the  sim- 
ple humanity  about  us.  Grand  and  inspiring,  ay,  and  holy, 
are  the  subjects  for  the  true  artist  in  the  every-day  course  of 
life,  on  the  common  field  of  the  world.  Love,  devotion  to  any 
great  truth,  high  endeavor,  sacrifice,  and  death,  for  freedom  and 
mankind,  —  are  they  not  as  sublime  as  the  ecstasies,  miracles, 
and  martyrdomsof  saints  ?  And  which  is  the  grander  sight  — 
a  lean  ascetic  telling  his  beads  over  a  grinning  skull  in  a«glooray 
cell,  or  some  strong,  fearless,  and  faithful  spirit,  fighting  un- 
daunted the  good  fight  for  man,  and  so  for  God  —  making 
every  step  and  every  blow  a  prayer,  and,  in  place  of  regarding 
any  cold  and  void  image  of  death,  keeping  his  eye  fixed  on 
the  burning  and  guiding  soul  of  an  undying  purpose  ?  And 
which  is  the  more  divinely  beautiful  —  a  St.  Cecilia,  harping 
to  the  angels,  with  rapt  face  uplifted,  or  such  fair  ministers  of 
consolation  and  redemption  as  in  our  own  day  have  borne 
Heaven's  light  and  peace  into  the  gloom  and  despair  of  the 
prison  and  the  madhouse,  and  made  the  very  abysses  of  crime 
vocal  with  God's  praise  ? 

If  these  opinions  can  be  sustained,  and  I  am  sure  they  can, 
what  I  have  said  of  the  religious  subjects  of  art  is  doubly  true 
of  thfc  mythological  —  as  regards  painting,  at  least,  which 
should  become  enfranchised  witli  the  growth  of  free  thought, 
and    widen    with    the    circles  of   time.      The  exigencies  and 


214  HAJ3    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

necessities  of  sculpture  are  more  imperative  and  absolute.  Yet, 
who  cannot  see,  even  in  this,  a  breadth  of  spirit  and  a  univer- 
Fality  of  thought  which  did  not  belong  to  it  of  old  ?  Some  of 
our  great  modern  artists  are  throwing  a  soft  flush  of  rose  upon 
the  pedestals  ?.nd  around  the  feet  of  their  ideal  statues.  This 
geeras  to  me  typical  of  a  new  warmth  of  human  feeling  creep- 
ing upward  into  the  once  coldly-isolated  and  superhuman  forms 
of  sculpture. 

I  have  seen  in  an  Italian  garden  a  stately  figure  of  Juno 
wreathed  about  by  flowering  vines,  and  a  head  of  Jove  ci'owned 
like  a  Bacchus  by  purple-ripened  grapes.  And  so  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  poetry  and  the  needs  of  our  day,  in  laying  hold 
on  this  severe  and  supernal  art,  have  added  a  living  grace  to 
its  cold  beauty,  and  beneficence  to  its  stern  majesty.  I  rejoice 
to  see  whatever  there  is  of  the  heroic  and  poetic  peculiar  to 
our  age  and  race  passing  into  stone ;  and  better  than  figures 
of  Olympian  grandeur,  stamped  with  god  hood,  are  forms  on 
which  I  may  gaze  till  I  think  I  see  the  very  marble  heaved 
with  the  beatings  of  a  great  human  heafi't. 

Yet  one  of  the  most  sublime  statues  of  modern  times  is 
that  of  neither  God  nor  man  —  The  Anjjel  of  the  Last  Judj;- 
ment,  by  Tenerani,  the  first  Italian  living  sculptor.  It  is  a 
colossal,  sitting  figure,  the  power,  beauty,  and  divine  majesty 
of  which  I  find  beyond  description.  The  archangel  holds 
his  trump,  not  raised,  but  resting  across  his  knees,  and  seems 
awaiting  the  moment  and  the  signal  to  sound.  There  is  a  sol- 
emn waiting  repose  in  the  figure,  and  in  the  face  an  intent,  ab- 
sorbed look  of  listening  for  the  word  of  doom,  grand  to  awfulness. 
You  hush  your  voice,  your  breath,  as  you  gaze,  and  you  gaze 
till  it  seems  that  all  God's  universe  is  listening  with  him. 
Nothing  can  b;  grander  than  the  wings  of  this  angel  —  broad 
and  high,  though  but  half  unfolded,  they  shine  behind  him  all 
stately  and  silvery  white,  every  smallest  {)lume  seeming  to 
make  a  part  of  that  charmed  stillness,  and  looking  as  though 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  215 

* 

fheir  upbearing  power  and  swift  vitality  had  been  suddenly 
rrozen  in  that  dread  expectancy. 

I  look  upon  this  figure,  so  majestic  and  mighty,  yet  waiting, 
subordinate,  and  obedient,  as  marvellously  suggestive  of 
the  gi^eater  majesty  and  might  of  the  infinite  and  invisible 
God.  For  this  reason  it  is  more  to  me  than  the  Christ  of  the 
same  artist,  which  is  less  forcible,  and  not  more  divine.  Next 
to  representations,  in  art,  of  the  Sovereign  Father,  wliich  are 
simply  blasphemous,  I  place  nearly  all  attempts  to  porti-ay,  or 
imbody,  the  inexpressible  sweetness,  sadness,  and  meekness  of 
Him  who  walked  earth  sorrowful,  poor,  and  lowly,  yet  whose 
death  agony  darkened  and  convulsed  the  world  —  with  whose 
last  groan  Nature,  dismayed,  cried  out  to  God. 

In  strong  contrast  with  this  grand  figure  is  the  faintins 
Psyche,  which  stands  near  it,  in  the  studio  of  the  artist.  Tlhs 
seems  to  me  the  loveliest  representation  1  have  yet  seen  of 
that  exquisite  ideal  of  olden  poetry.  She  has  just  opened  the 
fatal  vase  sent  by  the  envious  goddess,  and  inhaled  its  deadly 
vapor.  She  has  dropped  it  at  her  side,  and  is  sinking  towards 
the  earth.  Her  beautiful  life  is  visibly  passing  away ;  you 
see  it  dying  out  of  her  very  wings,  which  droop  with  an  almost 
leaden  heaviness  in  their  airy  tissues  —  in  the  languid  failing 
of  the  limbs,  the  weary  falling  of  the  eyelids,  the  death-kissed 
sweetness  of  the  lips.  So  tender,  and  touching,  and  softly 
beautiful  is  this  figure,  that,  gazing  on  it,  as  I  did,  through 
tears,  I  could  scarcely  believe  it  a  work  of  art  —  it  seemed 
rather  a  magic  crystallization  of  some  gentle  poet's  dream  of 

love  and  death. 

* 

Mr.  Spence,  the  young  English  sculptor,  has  in  his  studio, 
among  many  other  admirable  things,  his  charming  figure  of 
Highland  Mary,  which,  by  the  way,  has  been  commissioned 
by  the  Queen.  Ah,  what  an  omnipotent  leveller  and  exalter 
is  Genius  !  Think  of  the  poor  ploughman's  bui'efooted  peas- 
ant love  in  Buckiny-ham  Palace ! 


2^16  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

Steinhansfr  has  just  fiuished  a  colossal  sitting  statue  of 
Goethe,  attended  by  the  Genius  of  Poetry  bearing  a  harp. 
The  figure  of  Goethe  is  full  of  the  grand  repose,  and  the  head 
and  face  marked  by  the  beauty,  cold  and  proud,  the  almost 
supernal  dignity,  of  that  poet  universal  and  irresponsible  — 
the  great  I  AM  of  German  literature-  The  slight,  youth- 
ful figure  of  ute  attending  genius  is  a  graceful  accessory, 
whose  presence,  if  not  absolutely  necessary,  is  yet  justitied 
by  beauty. 

An  object  of  unceasing  delight  to  me  is  the  young  violin 
player,  but  just  executed  in  marble,  which  will,  I  am  sure, 
take  rank  amons;  the  finest  works  of  the  artist.  It  was  created 
in  deep  and  sweet  poetic  thought  —  the  very  soul  of  music 
seems  breathino;  over  the  face,  and  fiowing  throu«;h  all  the 
lines  of  the  exquisite  form,  in  the  visible  harmonies  of 
grace. 

In  strong  contrast  alike  with  the  powerful,  subtle,  Italian 
genius  of  Teuerani,  as  shown  in  his  Angel  of  the  Last  Judg- 
ment, his  Psyche,  and  his  Venus,  and  with  the  poetic,  dreamy, 
and  essentially  German  genius  of  Steinhauser,  is  the.  cold,  yet 
spirited,  classic,  3''et  emphatically  English  genius  of  Gibson. 
This  last  is  by  no  means  wanting  in  poetry,  but  he  is  not  a 
poet  —  his  love  of  beauty  is  a  principle,  or  a  religion,  rather 
than  a  sentiment  or  a  passion  —  he  waits  on  the  oracles  of  art, 
before  delivering  himself  up  to  the  inspirations  of  nature. 
In  a  word,  he  is  an  artist,  fundamentally  and  finally,  above 
all,  and  through  all.  Aiming  at  excellence  rather  than  effect, 
his  style,  if  not  marked  by  the  highest  power,  displays  great 
force  and  vitality,  joined  with  delicacy  and  grace.  A  reverent 
worshipper  of  the  spirit  and  forms  of  antique  art,  it  follows 
that  his  works,  if  not  startlingly  and  powerfully  original,  are 
pure  in  conception  and  faultless  in  execution.  They  do  not 
always  captivate  the  imagination,  or  appeal  strongly  to  the 
passions  of  the  heart ;   but  they  delight  the  taste  with  noble 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  217 

forms  of  beauty  which  are  alike  the  triumphs  of  genius  and 
the  slow  results  of  art. 

Of  the  works  of  this  sculptor,  now  in  Rome,  I  admire  most 
the  Narcissus,  an  exquisite  figure;  the  Wounded  Amazon  ; 
the  Cupid  and  Butterfly  ;  Psyche  borne  by  Zephyrs,  and  the 
Phaiton,  a  composition  in  basso  rilievo^  full  of  fiie  and  strength. 
In  the  lovely  story  of  Psyche  he  seems  to  revel,  and  many  of 
his  representations  are  worthy  of  the  immortality  of  which 
she  is  the  type. 

Into  the  studio  of  Mr.  Gibson,  Miss  Hosmer  (the  young 
American  sculptor)  has  been  admitted  as  a  pupil,  and  receives 
from  that  artist,  a  most  admirable  master,  all  the  advice  she 
needs,  all  the  encouragement  a  generous  heart  can  bestow. 
She  has  already  modelled  the  head  of  the  Venus  of  Milo,  a  beau- 
tiful antique  torso,  and  is  now  engaged  on  the  Cupid  of  Praxit- 
eles. It  may  gratify  her  many  American  friends  to  hear  that 
great  interest  is  felt  in  her,  and  warm  admiration  expressed  for 
her  genius,  not  alone  by  Mr.  Gibson,  but  by  many  of  the  first 
artists  in  Rome.  She  is  a  marvel  to  them  for  her  industry,  her 
modest  confidence,  her  quiet  enthusiasm  ;  for  her  fine  feeling 
for,  and  knowledge  of,  her  art.  They  all  say  that  the  copies 
she  has  made  —  which,  by  the  way,  have  been  chosen  as  diffi- 
cult studies  —  have  been  executed,  not  alone  with  ease,  and 
taste,  and  faithfulness,  but  in  the  truest  and  highest  style  of 
art.  With  the  full  consent  of  Mr.  Gibson,  she  is  soon  to 
model  some  of  her  own  ideal  compositions.       4 

I  have  spoken  of  the  artist  truly,  but  even  less  admiringly, 
than  I  could  have  spoken.  How  shall  I  speak  of  the  friend, 
of  the  woman,  of  the  child-woman,  as  I  call  her  ?  After  three 
months'  daily  intercourse,  I  cannot  say  less  than  that  I  have 
never  known  a  more  charming  and  lovable  person.  Her 
character  is  a  pleasing  and  piquant  combination  of  qualities 
rarely  combined — "enthusiasm  with  steady  perseverance,  re- 
fined tastes  with  playful  and  exuberant  spirits,  poetry  with 
19 


218  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS. 

sound  good  sense.  She  Is  thoroughly  original  and  independ 
ent,  without  extravagance  or  pretension  of  any  kind  —  a  sim- 
ple, earnest,  truthful  girl,  whose  strong  and  cheerful  heart  ia 
the  peer  and  ally  of  her  active  and  comprehensive  intellect. 
She  makes  her  kindly  and  generous  spirit  felt  by  those  around 
her  more  sensibly  than  even  her  genius  ;  and  in  the  brilliant 
and  peculiar  career  before  her,  slie  will  ever  be  followed  as 
well  by  loving  pride  as  by  admiring  interest. 


CHAPTER    X. 

• 

American  Artists.  —  Crawford.  —  His  Washington  Monument.  — 
Mr.  Story.  —  Mr.  Greenough.  —  Mr.  Mozier.  —  Mr.  Page.  — 
Blessing  op  the  Beasts.  —  The  Carnival.  —  Races. — The  Mo- 
coLi.  —  Ball. -'Roman  Nobility.  —  King  of  Bavaria.  —  Meet- 
ing THE  Pope.  — Veil  —  Storms. 

• 

January  29. 

Undoubtedly  the  most  interesting  and  important  work  of 
art  now  being  executed  in  Rome  (to  Americans,  at  least)  ia 
the  Washington  Monument,  by  Mr.  Crawford,  ordered,  to  her 
honor,  by  Virginia,  and  destined  to  be  the  chief  ornament  and 
pride  of  her  handsome  capital.  Before  speaking  of  the  ar- 
tistic merits  of  this  work,  let  me  give  some  idea  of  its  plan 
and  proportions.  The  entire  height  of  the  monument  is  to  be 
S'xty  feet.  This  includes  the  equesti'ian  statue  of  Washington 
—  sixteen  feet  in  height.  Below  this,  which  is  to  stand  on  a 
square  pedestal,  sculptured  with  some  admirable  bassi  rilievi^arii 
ranged  the  colossal  statues  of  six  of  Virginia's  noblest  sons — - 
Marshall,  Mason,  Allen,   Lee,  Jefferson,  a-nd  Patrick  Henry. 

The  only  figures  now  finished  are  those  of  Patrick  Henry 
and  Jefferson.  Henry  is  represented  in  the  lofty  passion  of 
his  fervid  and  magnetic  elo([uence  —  in  the  height  of  that 
grand  outburst  of  freedom  and  patriotism  which  electrified  the 
land,  and  will  yet  thrill,  like  a  trumpet  call,  through  the  hearts 
of  his  countrymen,  while  they  prize  their  dear-bought  liber- 
ties, or  reverence  the  heroic  past.  You  see  not  alone  in  this 
face  the  fire  and  the  force  of  the  impassioned  orator,  but  the 
sustaining  strength  of  the  hero,  and  the  prescience  of  the 
prophet. 

(S13) 


220  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

In  sinking  contrast  with  this  animated  and  powerful  figure 
is  that  of  Jefferson.  He  stands  in  an  attitude  of  cahn,  deep 
thought,  girt  about  with  all  the  native  majesty  of  greatness  — 
witli  all  the  dignity  of  the  statesman  and  patriot.  He  looks 
here  what  he  was  —  the  utterer  of  the  profoundest  political 
and  moral  truth  ever  proclaimed  to  , the  world.  You  recog- 
nize in  him  the  moulding  power  and  the  controlling  will  of 
government,  and  you  seem  to  read  in  his  face,  not  alone  vie 
deep  speculations  of  the  philosopher  and  the  large  projects  of 
the  statesman,  but  the  destinies  of  nations. 

The  drapery  in  both  these  noble  figures  is  wonderfully  well 
managed.  The  costume  of  the  time  of  the  revolution,  though 
far  enough  from  the  classic,  was  yet  less  stiff  and  meagre  than 
that  of  oui"  day  ;  and  the  artist  has  here  relieved,  or  concealed, 
much  of  the  more  ungraceful  detail,  by  a  skilful  introduction 
of  the  cloak. 

Separately  and  together,  these  statues  strike  me  as  among 
the  finest  productions  of  modern  sculpture  —  as  marked  by 
most  impressive  dignity,  by  originality,  force,  and  grandeur  of 
sentiment.  They  are  about  being  cast  in  bronze,  at  Munich. 
Mr.  Crawford  is  to  make  use  of  Houdon's  bust  of  Washington, 
as  the  most  reliable  likeness.  The  horse,  tliough  yet  in  a  very 
rough  state,  promises  to  be  a  magnificent  work.  It  is  repre- 
sented as  just  curbed  up  from  a  trot,  not  rearing  —  full  of 
strength  and  fire,  but  not  rebellious  —  a  steed  fully  worthy  of 
his  rider,  and  one  which  will  inevitably  suggest  comparisons  de- 
cidedly unfavorable  to  a  certain  weak-tailed  charger,  who  holds 
his  thin  nose  in  the  air  from  the  top  of  Hyde  Park  gate. 

The  small  studies  for  the  remaining  figures  of  this  monu- 
ment strike  me  as  happy  and  truthful  presentments  of  charac- 
ter—  are  important  parts  of  a  noble  whole,  and  form  a  grand 
circle  of  supports  and  accessories  to  that  peerless  principal. 
Nothing  ever  so  impressed  me  with  the  greatness  of  Washington 


A    TOUR    IN    EUMOPE.  221 

as  seeing  such  figures  as  these  placed  subordinate  to  his,  and 
feeling  the  entire  fitness  of  such  an  arrangement. 

The  last  finished  work  of  Mr.  Crawford  is  a  Flora  —  aiD 
exceedingly  graceful  and  beautiful  figure.  He  is  now  putting 
into  raarble  a  charming  group  of  the  Babes  in  the  Wood. 
This  simple  and  touching  subject  is  treated  with  much  delicacy 
and  feeling ;  and  the  sight  of  those  tender  and  lovely  little 
creatures,  who  in  each  other's  arms  have  sunk  in  the  deep 
slumber  of  grief  and  exhaustion,  and  from  that  have  slid 
silently  and  unconsciously  into  the  deeper  sleep  of  death, 
moves  one's  heart,  as  it  was  moved  in  chiWhood,  by. that  earli- 
est fireside  tale. 

An  exquisite  group,  in  its  sweet  poetic  expression,  is  the  Hebe 
and  Ganymede.  Hebe  is  represented  at  that  rather  m^^rtifying 
period  of  her  life  when  she  finds  herself  obliged  to  i  \sign  her 
office  at  court.  She  stands  with  her  head  drooped,  and  wears 
an  expression  half  of  grief,  half  of  vexation  ;  while  Ganymede, 
the  new  incumbent,  with  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  peers  into 
her  face  deprecatingly  and  tenderly  —  a  look  which  says^ 
"  Ah,  I  am  so  sorry  to  take  the  cup  from  you  !  Indeed,  I 
don't  want  the  situation  at  all.  You  fill  it  a  great  deal  bette? 
than  I  can  ;  besides,  it's  a  woman's  business.  So  don't  thmk 
hard  of  me.  You  know  one  can't  do  just  as  one  pleases  op 
here,  among  these  gods  and  goddesses.", 

Mr.  Crawford  has  not  yet  exhibited  as  fine  an  imaginatioti 
as  Tenei*ani,  or  as  much  art  as  Gibson,  but  he  is  younger  than 
either  of  these.  He  does  not  lack  imagination,  fancy,  or  feel- 
ing—  he  has  strength,  originality,  and  boldness,  and  every 
new  work  shows  an  advance  in  artistic  skill ;  so  we  may  well 
congratulate  ourselves  upon  a  genius  which  to  its  highest  de- 
velopment will  but  reflect  growing  honor  upon  our  country. 

Mr.  Story  is  engaged  upon  a  labor  of  love,  in  modelling  the 
statue  of  his  father,  the  late  Justice  Story.  He  seems  to  me 
to  be  making  a  noble  work  of  it.  The  ht^ad  is  exceedingly 
19* 


222  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

fine  —  the  face  wearing  a  mingled  expression  of  benignity  and 
strength,  of  calm  thought  and  genial  Isindness,  peculiarly  beau- 
tiful. The  figure  is  sitting  —  the  attitude  has  the  dignity  of 
the  judge,  without  rigidity  or  sternness  —  the  judicial  robe  is 
managed  most  judiciously,  and  forms  drapery  as  graceful  as 
imposing. 

Mr.  Story  has  in  his  studio  a  little  stud}^  for  an  ideal  stjitue, 
the  subject  taken,  I  believe,  from  Spenser  —  an  Arcadian 
Shepherd  Boy,  piping*  I  am  delighted  with  the  youthful 
grace  of  this  figure,  and  with  the  sentiment  of  pure,  prime- 
val music,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  which  speaks  not  alone  in 
face,  but  in  form  and  attitude  even. 

Mr.  Richard  Greenough  is  now  modelling  a  striking  and 
?iriginal  group  —  a  Shepherd  Boy  attacked  while  robbing  an 
eagle's  nest,  and  defending  liimself  against  the  enraged  eagle. 
The  youth  is  crouched  upon  one  knee,  and  is  just  about  to 
plunge  his  knife  into  the  body  of  the  bird,  who  has  alighted  on 
his  shoulder.  His  attitude  is  full  of  spirit,  and  his  face  has  a 
fine  expression  of  strength  and  courage, 

Mr.  Mozier  has  in  progi*ess  several  ideal  works.  The  one 
farthest  advanced  is  a  figure  of  Silence,  which,  as  yet,  is 
chiefly  remarkable  for  the  lightness  and  gracefulness  of  its 
drapery.  And  liere  is  a  point  where  Mr.  Mozier  usually 
excels  — he  manages  drapery  with  rare  skill  and  taste,  and 
however  much  he  may  give  to  his  statues,  it  never  looks  heavy, 
or  too  massive.  When  finished,  I  think  the  Silence  will  be  a 
figure  of  much  dignity  and  beauty. 

Among  Mr.  Mozier's  ideal  busts  I  am  most  pleased  with  a 
Daphne  several  copies  of  which  are  now  in  America.  It  is 
an  exquisite  head  —  not  alone  rarely  beautiful  in  form,  but 
expressive  of  much  poetic  thought.  The  face  and  bearing  of 
".he  head  convey  a  sentiment  of  resignation,  with  a  tenderness 
»nd  j)urity  peculiarly  sweet  and  touching. 

With  some  of  the  works  of  Mr.  Ives  I  have  been  much 


A    TOUK    TN    FUKOPE.  223 

pleased.  If  not  an  enthusiast,  he  seems  a  conscientious  student 
in  his  art.  If  he  does  not  produce  works  startlingly  powerful 
apd  original,  whatever  he  does  he  does  well.  He  models  with 
taste,  feeling,  and  careful  finish.  His  [iortrait  busts  seem  to 
me  remarkably  good,  and  some  of  his  ideal  busts  ai'e  exceed- 
ingly fine.  Of  the  latt<'r,  I  like,  especially,  a  head  of  Aj-;adne 
—  full  of  beauty  of  a  noble  character. 

Mr.  Rodgers  has  lately  executed  in  marble  a  figure  of 
Ruth,  which  is  very  lovely ;  and  one  of  a  charming,  and  I 
think  entirely  original,  subject  —  a  little  skater,  making  one 
of  his  first  essays  on  the  ice.  This  last,  whicii  is  called  the 
Truant,  delights  me  greatly,  by  a  certain  tresinu'ss  of  feeling 
there  is  about  it,  and  by  its  grace,  novelty,  and  naturalness. 

Mr.  Bartholomew  has  two  ideal  figures  lately  commenced, 
which  cannot  }  et  be  judged  of,  except  by  their  studies,  which 
are  very  pleasing.  This  artist  seems  to  excel  in  basso  rilievo. 
He  has  in  his  studio  a  beautiful  monumental  group,  and  a 
Homer,  with  his  young  guide,  which  is  marked  by  force,  grace, 
and  delicate  feelinsf. 

Mr.  Bartholomew  has  poetic  sentiment,  wilh  taste,  strength, 
and  patience  —  he  has  a  genuine  reverence  for  his  art,  and  a 
Fnodest  estimate  of  himself — is  beyond  doubt  an  artist  whom 
America  will  do  well  to  encourage. 

Mr.  Page  is  here,  j>ainting  some  admirable  pictures,  and 
talking  grandly  on  art  to  his  sitters  and  friends.  He  has  some 
peculiar,  but  I  think  profoundly  just,  ideas  concerning  por- 
trait painting.  He  desires  to  know  well  his  sitters,  and  re- 
quires to  grasp  somewhat  more  than  the  surface  life  for  his 
picture,  which  he  makes  a  study  of  character,  a  revelation  of 
soul,  as  compared  with  other  portraits ;  a  reality,  instead  of  a 
likeness  ;  a  living  presence,  in  place  of  a  haunting,  unsatisfying 
shadow.  You  look  to  s<'('  the  rich  lights  astir  in  the  hair,  the 
li[)S  breaking  iitu*  smiii.-s,  iIki  breast  softly  heaved,  the  very 
blood  beating  jtlono;  the  veins. 


224  HAPS    AM>    MISHAPS    OP 

Mr.  Page  has  in  his  studio  several  copies  from  Titian,  so 
marvellously  true  to  that  great  master  that  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  them  by  any  other  hand  than  his.  I  am  convinced 
that  we  have  no  painter  possessed  of  a  more  clear  and  pro- 
found knowledge  of  art  than  Mr.  Page.  He  lives  v^i  it,  and 
through  it ;  Avanting  the  passionate  energy  of  personal  ambi- 
tion, he  does  not  pursue  it  ardently,  but  studies  it  with  all  the 
powers  of  a  subtile  intellect,  and  contemplates  it  with  the  calm 
devotion  of  a  reverential  spirit.  By  bringing  so  much  tliought 
and  power  to  bear  upon  portrait  painting,  Mr.  Page  has 
done  much  to  ennoble  that  branch  of  his  art ;  but  we  yet  look- 
to  see  manifestations  of  his  genius  more  original  in  character 
and  universal  in  interest  —  something  which  shall  be  a  full 
and  worthy  expression  of  himself,  in  which  the  artist  will 
live  as  sole  creator  and  first  cause. 

We  went,  last  Sunday,  to  see  the  blessing  of  beasts  —  aa 
annual  ceremony,  which  takes  place  at  the  Church  of  Smi 
Antonio.  There  was  an  immense  crowd  of  all  descriptions 
and  classes  of  people ;  among  the  rest,  a  vast  convocation  of 
beggars,  the  crij)pled  and  maimed  in  endless  varieties,  wreck* 
and  remnants,  divisions  and  subdivisions  of  men. 

A  priest  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  church,  with  a  holy  water 
sprinkler  in  his  haiid,  and  a  little  boy  at  his  side,  bearing  the 
benitier.  The  animals  were  trotted  up  before  him ;  he  reacJ 
a  form  of  benediction  in  Latin,  shook  the  sprinkler  at  them, 
and  they  were  good  for  a  twelvemonth.  Of  course,  this  ia 
done  for  a  consideration  —  as  what  is  not,  in  the  way  of 
church  parades,  privileges,  and  immunities  ?  The  first  appli- 
cants for  a  benediction,  after  our  arrival,  were  two  miserable 
old  carthorses,  who  looked  as  tliough  the  blessings  of  all  the 
fathers  of  the  church  could  not  keep  them  on  their  legs  for 
twenty-four  hours.  I  fear  the  rite  w^as  extreme  unction  to 
them  ;  and  yet  the  owner  doubtless  led  them  away,  rejoicing 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  225 

in  the  faith  that  the  crows  were  cheated  of  il  3  poor  skele- 
tons for  a  year  to  come. 

Next  came  a  drove  of  donkeys,  with  their  heads  and  tails 
decorated  with  gay  ribbons.  One  of  these  committed  the  ever- 
to-be-apprehended  asinine  impropriety  of  braying  in  the  midst 
of  the  ceremony.  So  absurd,  ludicrous,  and  pompously 
farcica?  was  this  scene,  —  so  stupid,  yet  consciously  ridiculous, 
seemed  the  chief  actors,  —  that  it  struck  me  the  benediction 
might  have  commenced  without  great  inappropriateness  with 
an  apostolic  "  dearly-beloved  brethren  "  ! 

I  tr.ist  I  shall  not  be  thought  irreverent  from  this  or  any 
thing  of  the  kind  I  may  say.  I  feel  a  daily-increasing  indig- 
nation and  contempt  towards  the  monstrous  absurdities  of  this 
system  of  religion  and  the  actors  therein.  To  reverence  such 
things  and  such  men,  were  an  insult  to  the  God  in  whom  I 
believe. 

There  came  up  a  sudden  and  violent  shower,  and  we  were 
driven  for  shelter  into  the  church,  where  we  were  brought 
into  more  intimate  relations  with  the  lower  classes  than  was 
altogether  safe  or  savory.  I  am  a  democrat,  even  in  Italy, 
till  it  comes  to  garlic  and  pulci,  when,  I  must  confess,  my 
democracy  assumes  a  purely  abstract  character.  After  the 
storm  was  passed,  the  Pope's  stud  came,  mostly  driven  in 
carriages,  magnificent  turnouts.  Then  followed  those  of  the 
cardinals,  scarcely  less  stately  and  gorgeous.  Next  came 
twenty-four  superb  horses,  belonging  to  Prince  Piombino, 
attached  to  one  carriage,  all  decorated  with  plumes  and 
ribbons  —  really  a  beautiful  sight. 

The  horses  which  are  to  run  in  the  Corso,  during  the 
Carnival,  were  blessed  amid  unusual  demonstrations  of  popu- 
lar feeling;  and  so  it  ended  —  the  oddest,  absurdest,  most 
utterly  ridiculous  religious  ceremonial  I  ever  beheld. 

To-morrow,  Carnival  begins.  It  is  late  at  night ;  ail  is 
quiet  in  the  streets,  except  the  noise  of  hammers  next  door, 


226  HAPS    ANJJ    MISHAPS    OF 

where  they  are  putting  up  a  balcony.  The  sound  at  this  hour 
has  something  strange  and  sinister  in  it  —  s(  mething  so 
scaffold-suggestive,  that  it  almost  gives  one  a  to-be-hung-next- 
morning  sort  of  a  feeling. 

February  8. 

The  first  day  of  the  Carnival  was  beautiful,  warm,  and 
sunny,  but  with  an  invigorating  spring  freshness  in  the  atmos- 
}^here  —  such  a  day  as  we  sometimes  have  at  home,  in  early 
April,  tempting  one  out  into  the  budding  woods  after  the  first 
flowers. 

As  the  windows  of  our  lodgings  are  too  high  for  Carnival 
convenience,  we  have  taken  a  balcony  somewhat  fartlier  up 
the  Corso,  near  the  Via  della  Croce  —  an  admirable  situation. 
To  this  we  proceeded  at  half  past  two  ;  but  not  till  about 
three  did  the  grand  play  really  commence.  Then  indeed  was 
the  Corso  a  most  beautiful  and  animating  sight.  On  either 
side  the  windows  and  balconies  were  decorated  with  brilliant 
hangings,  and  filled  with  gay  figures  and  smiling  faces.  The 
dark,  gray  old  palaces  seemed  to  put  forth  the  most  gorgeous 
colors  and  the  most  alluring  beauty  —  like  the  sudden  magnif- 
icent blossoming  of  rude  and  gigantic  tropical  plants.  The 
street  was  thronged  with  revellers  and  spectators,  in  carriages 
and  on  foot,  many  in  costumes  grotesque  or  picturesque ;  and 
thickly  and  incessantly  from  windows  and  balconies  stormed 
bouquets  and  bonbons,  and  rattled  the  harmless  hail  of  confetti. 
This  last  is  composed  of  a  sort  of  seed,  covered  with  plaster 
or  flour ;  and  though  it  whitens  one  completely,  and  stings  a 
little  occasionally,  it  does  no  serious  injury  to  person  or  dress. 
Those  in  the  carriages  gallantly  returned  the  fire  of  the  balco- 
nies and  windows,  giving  bouquet  for  bouquet,  bonbon  for 
bonbon,  confetti  for  confetti  ;  with  whatsoever  missile  ye  pelt, 
't  shall  be  pelted  to  you  again. 

It  is  strange  how  contagious  is  this  general  joyousness  and 
jollity      No  sooner  had  I  stepped  on  to  the  balcony  than  1  felt 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  227 

myself  possessed  with  the  true  Carnival  spirit ;  my  heart 
danced,  and  the  blood  tingled  along  my  veins,  with  a  novel, 
wild,  and  childish  excitement  —  and  in  a  moment  I  was 
mingling  in  that  strange,  foreign  sport,  as  ardently,  ener- 
getically, and  recklessly  as  any  daring  Roman  woman  to  the 
Corso  and  Carnival  born.  I  not  only  tossed  and  caught  such 
sweet  and  fragrant  missiles  as  bags  of  bonbons  and  bouquets, 
but  shot  and  received  large  sugared  balls,  hard  and  sometimes 
not  a  little  formidable,  and  showered  torrents  of  confetti. 
There  were  twelve  in  our  balcony,  and  when  we  singled  out  a 
carriage,  and  fired  in  concert,  the  eifect  was  tremendous.  It 
was  most  amusing  to  watch  certain  passers  by,  who  drove  up 
and  down  in  a  serious  and  sedate  manner,  taking  no  smallest 
part  in  the  sport,  and  putting  on  a  surprised,  indignant,  or  ill- 
used  look,  whenever  they  were  saluted  with  a  heavy  bouquet 
or  a  dash  of  confetti.  Heaven  only  knows  what  else  they  ex- 
pected at  Carnival. 

It  was  at  first  ditficult  to  distinguish  our  acquaintances  in 
fancy  dresses,  dominoes,  and  wire  masks  ;  but  after  we  had 
once  recognized  them,  they  received  no  quarter. 

After  a  couple  of  hours'  unceasing  exercise,  my  arm  became 
almost  useless  with  much  throwing,  and  I  then  contented 
myself  with  covert  attacks  upon  the  pedestrians  passing  or 
lingering  underneath  the  balcony.  I  had  all  the  advantage  of 
an  ambush  —  taking  the  enemy  by  surprise,  and  leaving  him 
little  or  no  defence  —  an  unequal,  ignoble,  aboriginal  style  of 
warfare,  I  grant,  but  full  of  excitement,  and  a  rich,  wicked 
zest.  A  deadly  Ibe  to  rfcspectability  of  appearance,  as  inhar- 
monious and  incongruous  with  the  scene  and  the  season,  I  par- 
ticularly lay  in  wait  for  shiny  black  beavers  and  superfine 
cloths.  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  say  that  these  attacks,  dis- 
courteous and  cowardly  as  they  may  seem,  were  received  with 
the  most  charming  good  nature  and  engaging  placidity,  and 
returned,  whenever  it  was  possible,  with  hearty  good  will.    But 


228  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

confetti  thrown  upward  to  the  height  where  we  stood  did 
comparatively  Httle  execution. 

At  half  past  four  the  first  gun  was  fired,  and  the  police 
began  to  clear  the  Corso  of  carriages,  for  the  race.  At  five 
boomed  off  another  gun,  and  a  company  of  cavalry  galloped 
at  a  gallant  rate  from  the  Ripresa  di  Barberi  to  the  Piazza 
del  Popolo,  from  whence  the  horses  were  to  start ;  and  a  few 
moments  after  the  racers  w^ere  loosened,  and  amid  a  wild,  inde- 
scribable uproar  of  shouts  and  yells,  and  sharp,  shrill  whistles, 
and  waving  of  hats  and  clapping  of  hands,  dashed  up  the 
brilliant  street.  Riderless,  but  with  spiked  balls  dangling  at 
their  sides,  goading  them  the  more  the  faster  they  ran, 
decorated  with  gay  ribbons  and  covered  with  bright  sheets  of 
tin,  they  went  flying  and  flashing,  and  ringing  past,  and  the 
crowning  excitement  of  the  day  was  over  in  a  moment. 

There  were  nine  of  these  horses,  each  bearing  his  number 
painted  in  white  upon  his  shoulders.  The  winner  was  known 
by  the  number  of  guns  fired  after  all  had  reached  the  goal, 
where  they  were  caught  by  sheets  of  canvas  stretched  across 
the  street.  The  prizes  awarded  to  the  owners  of  the  winning 
horses  are  given,  in  part,  by  the  Jews,  in  compensation  for 
not  running  themselves,  as  in  the  good  old  times.  By  the 
way,  we  hear  that  the  Pope  has  decreed  that  even  this  fine 
shall  be  no  longer  imposed  —  an  act  Avhich  speaks  well  for  his 
innate  sense  of  justice. 

I  went  home  excessively  tired,  but  decidedly  of  the  opinion 
that  one  of  the  few  commendable  institutions  of  this  unhappy 
country  is  this  same  custom-sanctioned  absurdity,  this  ancient 
and  annual  irruption  of  folly,  this  gigantic  frolic,  the  CarnivaL 

Monday  was  a  horribly  rainy  day,  but,  to  our  boundless 
astonishment,  the  frolic  went  on.  This  was  an  unexpected 
experience.  It  somehow  had  never  entered  into  my  head 
that  there  could  be  such  an  anomaly  as  a  wet  Carnival.  We 
remained  at  home,  and  watched,  with  infinite  amusement,  the 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  22H 

mad  attempt  at  enjoyment  without.  It  was  a  scene  which 
wouM  have  delighted  Mark  Tapley,  as  a  complete  triumph  of 
his  principle  of  "  being  jolly  under  creditable  circumstances," 
If  the  weather  had  been  fine,  the  display  on  this  day  would 
have  been  very  brilliant,  as,  in  defiance  of  cloud  and  wet, 
there  was  early  a  gallant  turnout,  and  many  striking,  quaint, 
and  curious  costumes. 

Soon,  from  drizzling  showers,  the  heavy  rain  camo  pelting 
down  like  shot ;  the  Corso  ran  a  sheet  of  yellow  mud,  like 
unother  Tiber ;  the  gay  hangings  of  the  balconies  and  win- 
dows were  taken  in  ;  and  yet  the  furious  fun  went  on.  Young 
men  and  girls,  in  all  imaginable  costumes,  drove  up  and  down, 
throwing  bouquets,  bonbons,  and  confetti  as  merrily  as  though 
the  brightest  of  skies  was  above,  and  the  driest  of  grounds 
beneath  them  —  their  ardor  seemingly  not  damped,  their  spirits 
not  dashed  —  with  cocked  hats  pouring  rivers  of  water  from 
their  wide  brims,  with  ruffs  and  feathers  fiattened  and  flapping,' 
with  ribbons  and  veils,  and  white  muslins  dripping  and  cling- 
ing, whitened  with  conletti,  blackened  with  mud,  flooded  with 
rain  —  a  strange,  peculiar,  unprecedented,  richly-ridiculous 
sight. 

Our  window  being  too  high  for  very  satisfactory  interchange 
of  compliments  with  the  passers  by,  we  were  reduced  to  the 
monotonous  extremity  of  bandying  bouquets  with  our  neigh- 
bors over  the  way.  We  were  higlily  amused  by  a  certain 
red-haired  lace  merchant,  opposite  us,  —  a  countess,  we  hear, — 
and  I  think  very  likely,  for  countesses  are  almost  as  plenty  as 
priests  in  Rome.  We  hire  our  balcony  of  one  —  a  sharp- 
eyed  old  dame,  very  dowdyish,  dwarfish,  curt,  and  curious. 
But  to  return:  this  particular  countess,  who,  abandoned  by 
her  husband,  the  faithless  count,  has  taken  to  the  lace  business, 
looks,  in  her  pretty  little  shop,  quite  rosy,  jolly,  and  coquettish, 
under  the  circumstances.  Indeed,  I  am  not  sure  that  this 
lovelorn  Ariadne  is  not  completely  consoled  for  the  desertion 
•20 


230  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

of  her  Theseus,  in  a  handsome  young  Roman,  who  lounges  ii. 
her  shop,  and  smokes  cigars  at  her  window  —  quite  a  passable 
Bacchus.  Again  to  return  :  this  fair  dame,  for  fair  she  is,  not 
being  very  powerful  or  expert  in  the  use  of  her  arms,  yet 
anxious  to  manifest  her  friendly  feeling  towards  us,  stood  at 
her  window,  bowing  and  smiling,  and  showered  handfuls  of 
choice  bonbons  and  baskets  of  flowers  into  the  midst  of  the 
street,  with  a  mad  prodigality  and  a  desperate  energy  really 
alarming.  At  length  the  aforesaid  Bacchus  came  to  her  aid, 
and  from  his  hand  we  received  some  very  beautiful  offerings, 
they  having  first  been  kissed,  and  held  against  the  heart  of 
Ariadne  —  a  little  ceremony  so  charmingly  and  gracefully 
gone  through  as  quite  to  make  us  forget  her  equivocal  position 
in  regard  to  the  absent  Theseus  and  the  present  Bacchus,  with 
her  vending  of  point  lace  in  a  small  vvay,  and  to  remember 
only  that  she  was  a  pretty  woman  and  a  countess. 

I  was  also  much  occupied  by  observing  the  grave  folly  of  a 
sedate,  spectacled,  white-cravated  elderly  gentleman,  next 
door,  who  for  hour  after  hour  did  nothing  but  throw  confetti, 
not  upon  the  bold  bravadoes  in  the  open  carriages,  but  upon 
the  pedestrians  passing  beneath  his  balcony,  nearly  all  of 
whom  were  well  protected  by  umbrellas. 

I  did  not  believe  it  possible  that,  in  the  slimy  state  of  the 
street  that  afternoon,  the  race  would  be  allowed  to  come  ofi^; 
but  at  the  usual  hour  the  Corso  was  cleared,  the  cavalry  came 
dashing  down  from  the  Ripresa  di  Barberi  to  the  Piazza  del 
Popolo,  and  in  a  few  minutes  more  the  horses  leaped  from 
their  barrier,  and  tore  madly  up  the  Corso.  Three  poor 
creatures  went  down  before  they  had  run  half  way,  rolling 
and  sliding  in  a  most  frightful  manner.  All  were  more  or  less 
hurt,  yet  gallantly  struggled  up  and  ran  on  ;  but,  of  course, 
tlieir  chance  was  lost.     And  so  this  day  closed. 

Tuesday  and  Wednesday  were  festas,  which  suspended  the 
Carnival.     The  saints  in  whose  honor  they  were  sent  charm- 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  231 

Ing  weather,  which  we  enjoyed  in  walks  and  excursions  into 
the  country  —  of  which,  more  anon. 

Thursday  it  rained  again  throughout  the  morning,  but 
cleared  up  in  the  afternoon,  though  not  brightly  or  warmly  — 
one  of  those  chilling,  threatening,  disheartening,  aggravating 
days,  a  thousand  times  more  disagreeable  than  a  regular,  hon- 
est, pelting  storm. 

"VVe  noticed  on  this  day  an  elegant  carriage,  containing  two 
ladiesand  two  gentlemen,-  who,  amid  the  mad  uproar  and  stormy 
pelting,  sat  each  with  a  copy  of  Galiynuni  in  hand,  coolly 
feigning  to  read.  All  were  without  masks,  and  the  gentlemen 
were  smoking  cigars.  Nothing  I  have  seen  in  the  whole 
course  of  the  Carnival  has  deliglited  me  so  much  as  this ;  it 
was  deliciously  droll,  the  very  rehnement  and  soul  of  humor. 

Friday  was  another  festa,  and,  of  course,  set  apart  from  all 
Carnival  and  carnal  purposes. 

Saturday  was  a  nondescript  sort  of  a  day  —  neither  warm 
nor  cold,  sunny  nor  stormy.  The  Corso  was  more  than  ever 
thronged,  though  with  very  few  of  the  better  class  of  people. 
There  were  exhibited  many  new  and  astounding  varieties  of 
costume.  Scores  of  women,  of  questionable,  or  rather  unques- 
tionable, character,  ti-amping  through  the  muddy  streets  in 
draggled  finery  and  liideous  disguises ;  hosts  of  comical 
-P(o/c me//?',  making  '*  confusion  worse  confounded,"  with  trum- 
pets, bells,  and  tambourines,  and  striking  right  and  left  among 
the  crowd  with  a  sort  of  flail  composed  of  a  blown  bladder 
fastened  to  a  stick.  There  were  men  dressed  as  women,  and 
women  as  men  ;  indeed,  this  fancy  of  a  fair  exchange  of  cos- 
tume seemed  greatly  to  prevail,  and  was  more  ludicrous  in 
effect  on  so  large  a  scale  than  you  can  imagine.  There  were 
children  in  quaint  and  antiquated  attire  ;  small  harlequins  and 
jesters  without  number;  there  were  Ciiinamen  and  blacka- 
moors. There  was  a  gigantic  man  in  a  woman's  dress,  arm 
in  arm  with  a  dwariish  woman  in  the  uniform  of  an  officer 


232  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    O^ 

the  coat  tails  touching  the  ground.  There  was  a  Falstaff,  who 
literally  carried  all  before  him.  There  were  men  and  boys 
divided  down  the  middle,  into  black  and  white,  red  and  yel- 
low, blue  and  green,  and  so  on,  ad  hifiaitum. 

Tlie  lower  classes  evidently  had  it;  it  was  the  great  day 
for  the  rabble.  We  took  a  turn  or  two  in  the  carriage,  but 
were  driven  off  the  course  in  dis<2:ust,  on  findino;  that  the  ras- 
cally  young  Romans  in  the  street  flung  nothing  cleaner  than 
bouquets  picked  from  the  mud. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  the  race  began,  and  it  was  a  sin- 
gular and  beautiful  sight  to  watch  the  swift  course  of  the 
horses,  by  the  gleaming  of  the  millions  of  sparks  struck  out 
from  the  pavement.  Just  by  our  balcony  two  slipped  and 
fell.  One  was  too  badly  hurt  to  proceed ;  and  the  other,  a 
handsome  gray,  ran  feebly  on,  with  the  blood  streaming  from 
his  shoulder  —  a  piteous  and  revolting  sight.  Altogether,  and 
at  all  times,  this  race  is  painful  to  me.  I  can  but  believe  it  a 
brutal  and  demoralizing  exhibition,  as  the  animals  invariably 
run  from  pain  and  terror,  not  from  emulation. 

It  is  urged  that  the  annual  religious  ceremony  here  ob- 
served, of  the  solemn  blessing  of  beasts,  must  inculcate  a  feel- 
ing of  tenderness  and  consideration  towards  them,  as  creatures 
under  the  protection,  and  sanctified  by  the  benediction,  ot 
Heaven  and  the  church.  Yet  true  it  is,  that  I  have  never 
witnessed  such  extreme  and  universal  cruelty  to  animals  axj  I 
have  been  shocked  with  here. 

I  am  told  by  Itahans,  that,  even  had  the  weather  been  favor- 
able, this  Carnival  would  have  been  a  poor  atfa'.r,  com[)ared 
with  those  of  old.  Few  of  the  Romans  of  the  better  class 
will  join  in  it,  from  indignation  at  the  restrictions  put  upon 
some  of  its  innocent  freedoms,  and  the  curtailment  of  its  im- 
memorial amusements —  the  forbidding  of  close  masks  in  the 
streets,  and  the  suppression  of  masked  balls  at  the  theatres. 
The  festivities  are  now  principally   conducted  by  foreigners 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  235 

and  the  common  people,  and  much  more  rouglily  and  furious- 
ly, it  is  said,  than  formerly. 

Monday,  yesterday,  was  not  rainy,  but  damp  and  lowering, 
yet  a  tolerable  Carnival  day  notwithstanding.  At  about  three 
o'clock  I  had  just  returned  from  a  walk,  by  a  back  street,  and, 
on  passing  through  our  drawing  room,  was  almost  stunned  by 
the  roar  of  the  revel  which  came  up  from  the  street  below. 
As  I  looked  out,  half  wonderingly,  I  saw  that  the  Corso  ran  a 
river  of  wild  laughter,  a  surging  tide  of  gorgeous  colors  and 
gladsome  faces,  and  brave,  defiant,  triumphant  merriment. 
The  costumes  on  this  day  were  more  varied  in  brilliance  and 
grotesqueness  than  ever  before.  Every  imaginable  odd  fancy, 
absurdity,  and  extravagance  thus  found  its  perfect  and  piquant 
expression.  The  contadine  of  Rome,  Albano,  Frascati,  and 
Tivoli,  with  a  class  of  Roman  girls  answering  to  the  Parisian 
grisettes,  were  out  in  all  their  glory  ;  and  I  assure  you  1  never 
saw  on  any  one  occasion  so  many  handsome,  graceful,  and 
charmingly-coquettish  women.  The  costumes  of  some  of  them 
were  perfect  studies  of  fitness  and  effect,  and  a  marvel  to  be- 
hold were  the  utter  freedom  and  careless  abandon  of  their 
merriment;  never  rude,  and  never  in  the  slightest  degree  im- 
modest —  the  bold  grace  of  their  attitudes,  the  ease,  and 
lightness,  and  gay  fearlessness  of  their  action.  It  made  the 
brain  reel  with  a  fine,  poetic  intoxication  to  watch  that  bright, 
interminable  vision  of  blooming  young  figures,  ])lump  or  dainty, 
in  all  conceivable,  bewitching  fancies  of  attire  —  of  merry 
mantling  cheeks,  and  red  laughing  lips,  and  hearty  white 
te^th,  and  glossy  bhick  braids,  and  far-flashing  eyes  —  dark 
and  tender,  and  piercing  and  passionate,  even  through  the 
sunny  holiday  light  in  which  they  floated  and  danced  for  the 
merry  hour. 

To-day,  to  our  keen  disappointment,  it  rained  incessantly, 
from  the  early  morning  to  the  time  of  the  race,  —  which,  how- 
ever, canie  off  without  any  accident,  —  and  the  JiocoZi,  the 
20* 


234  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

crowning  frjlic,  came  on.  Then  all  the  world  came  out  in 
carriages,  on  foot,  at  windows  and  balconies,  with  lighted  tapers 
and  torches,  and  every  body  strove  to  put  out  his  neighbor's 
light  and  protect  his  own.  Every  possible  contrivance  in  the 
way  of  extinguishers  was  in  use ;  but  the  most  successful 
seemed  a  handkerchief,  tied  at  the  end  of  a  long  reed,  which 
could  be  suddenly  let  down  from  balconies,  and  slyly  thrust  up 
into  carriages,  flapping  out  the  flame  in  an  instant.  I  noticed 
one  young  man  standing  up  in  a  carriage,  holding  his  taper 
perfectly  protected  by  a  basket  —  literally  "  liiding  his  light 
under  a  bushel." 

The  Corso  itself  was  a  brilliant  sight.  Mrs.  Kemble, 
I  think,  says  of  it,  on  a  similar  occasion,  "  It  looked  as 
though  the  milky  way  had  dropped  into  it."  And  so  it  did  ; 
but  imaprine,  in  addition,  the  starry  hosts,  which  stretch  their 
Ions  files  alonoj  that  same  via  lade,  havino:  imbibed  somethinof 
stronger  than  milk,  and  abandoning  themselves  to  a  wild, 
bacchanalian  revel,  and  leaping,  and  dancing,  and  reeling  about 
in    a  most  extraordinary  manner. 

Nothing  could  be  more  exciting,  even  to  one  not  an  actor 
in  the  frenzied  fun,  than  the  singular  sounds  in  the  streets  — 
the  peals  of  laugliter — the  friendly  cries  of  warning  of  at- 
tempts on  your  light  from  those  who  the  next  minute  flap  it 
out  themselves  —  the  triumphant  shouts  of  "  Senza  mocolo  1 
Senza  mocolo  !  "  (without  a  light)  —  the  rush  forward,  the 
retreat,  the  attempt,  the  defeat,  the  surprise,  the  victory.  O^ 
it  was  a  glorious  frolic,  and  a  mad,  merry,  gay,  and  compen 
sating  conclusion  to  a  somewhat  sorry  Carnival. 

February  ir 
On   one    jf  the   Carnival   nigVJs   we  attended,  at   the   jld 

Braschi  palace,  a  large  charity  ball,  under  the  patronage  of 

th(i  Princess  Doria. 

We  arrived  about  10  o'clock,  and   found  the  rooms   well 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  235 

filled.  Strolling  through  them,  one  after  another,  I  came  to 
tlie  conclusion  that  this  ball  was  conducted  on  a  far  more 
pleasant  and  sensible  plan  than  anj  I  have  attended  ia 
America.  In  one  apartment  a  large  table  was  set  out,  where 
refreshments  of  Jill  kinds  were  served  throughout  the  evening, 
instead  of  one  grand  supper,  as  with  us,  with  its  uncomfort- 
able crowding  and  ferocious  pushing  and  snatching.  In  other 
salons,  removed  as  far  as  possible  from  the  stirring  music  and 
the  musical  footfalls  of  the  ball  room,  gathered  those  who, 
from  disinclination  or  disability,  eschewed  the  dance  —  dow- 
agers and  staid-look  ins  elderlv  orentlemen,  consolinoj  them- 
selves  over  whist  and  ecarte,  or  chatting  in  corners,  or  stroll- 
ing up  and  down,  with  a  free,  careless,  enjoyable,  at-home 
manner,  most  pleasantly  peculiar.  There  were  there  and  in 
the  ball  room  not  alone  scores  of  young  ladies  with  their 
mammas  and  papas,  but  mere  children,  and  venerable  people 
who  might  years  ago  have  arrived  at  the  dignified  estate  of 
grandpapas  and  grandmammas.  I  like  this  pleasant,  social 
mingling  of  youth  and  age  —  it  gives  a  solidity  to  society,  and  a 
noble  dignity  to  pleasure  ;  and  I  hope  that  a  custom  so  just  and 
beautiful  may  become  more  generally  adopted  in  ourowm  coun- 
try, where  the  young  are  too  much  disposed  to  thrust  not  alone 
the  old,  but  the  middle-aged,  to  the  wall ;  where  dashing  youths 
hardly  out  of  college,  and  beautiful  girls  who  have  just  broken 
boarding  school,  too  often  lord  it  and  queen  it  over  society  with 
an  absolute  and  insolent  power.  I  also  noticed  several  whom 
I  took  to  be  clergymen  ;  and  this  I  liked.  With  us,  where 
never  a  member  of  any  religious  organization  may  move  to 
music  without  a  fearful  looking  for  of  church  discipline  and 
clerical  indignation,  — :  where  clergymen  are  hedged  round 
with  an  awful  respect  which  must  become  in  time  excessively 
uncomfortable,  —  the  sight  of  one  at  even  a  small  dancing 
party  would  be  a  startling  apparition.  Indeed,  with  us,  the 
members  of  that  venerable  body  are    felt   to  be   more  or  less 


236  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

de  trop  at  all  large  gatherings,  except  it  be  baptisms  or  buriala, 
weddings  or  hangings.  Would  it  not  be  infinitely  better  if 
they  mingled  more  socially  and  familiarly  with  the  people,  in 
their  every-day  feelings  and  occupations,  interest  and  pleasures  ? 

The  ball  room  presented  a  most  brilliant  appearance,  and 
contained  many  people  of  high  rank,  of  various  nations, 
though  principally  Roman.  The  Princess  Doria,  being  in 
mourning  for  her  father,  the  late  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  was  not 
present ;  but  there  were  pointed  out  to  me  the  Princess  Spada, 
a  handsome,  stout,  and  stylish  dame  of  thirty  and  upwards  ; 
a  daughter  of  the  present  Prince  of  Canino,  a  plump,  pretty 
girl,  of  a  striking  Bonapartean  face  ;  the  youthful  Princess 
Piombino,  beautiful  but  pallid,  and  slight  to  fragility,  in  whom 
I  was  interested  by  being  told  that  this  romantic  and  un-Ro- 
man  thinness  resulted  from  an  unhappy  and  hopeless  attach- 
ment. So  these  noble  ladies  have  hearts,  after  all  —  hearts 
that  sometimes  break,  I  should  say,  after  watching  the  forced 
smile  and  languid  movements  of  this  Princess,  passion-pale. 
The  King  of  Bavaria  was  present,  in  the  character  of  a  pri- 
vate gentleman.  Ke  is  a  man  of  about  thirty-five,  I  should 
say  —  tall,  slender,  rather  good  looking,  but  stiff  and  formal  in 
his  manner.  He  danced  the  quadrille,  hat  in  hand,  coldly  and 
mechanically.  The  Prince  Musignano,  eldest  son  of  Canino, 
was  also  present.  He  has  a  face  slightly  Napoleonic,  but 
rather  on  the  gross  order,  and,  though  not  yet  thirty,  is  as  stout 
as  was  his  granduncle  when  in  his  last  estate  he  grew  in  cor- 
poral as  he  decreased  in  imperial  greatness. 

This  Prince  has  particularly  small  feet,  which  I  suspect  are 
a  weakness  and  a  dandyism  with  him,  and  he  rolls  a  ^little  in 
his  gait.  His  Highness  seems  especially  fond  of  dancing,  and 
carries  into  it  nearly  as  much  spirit  as  body.  To  encounter 
him  and  the  Princess  Spada  in  the  waltz  is  really  no  trilling 
matter.  With  a  medium-sized  partner,  you  are  like  an  incon- 
Biderable  fishing  smack  under  the  bows  of  a  merchantman  — 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  237 

run  down  in  a  moment ;  while  the  gigantic  craft  drives  majes- 
tically on,  with  scarce  a  dipping  of  the  spars,  scarce  a  flutter 
among  the  rigging. 

Nearly  all  the  foreign  ministers  were  there,  among  whom 
the  Austrian  struck  me  as  carrying  the  ablest  and  uglier  t  face. 
There  were  some  young  scions  of  English  aristocracy  present 

—  gay,  fast  fellows,  with  long,  light  curls  and  carelessly-tied  cra- 
vats, and  handsome,  healthful,  laughing,  audacious  faces  ;  and 
sedate,  reserved  young  men,  with  a  proper  and  patrician  sense 
of  their  position,  individually  and  nationally,  with  their  hair 
parted  sleekly  down  behind,  and  their  heads  pivoting  painfully 
in  stiff  white  neckcloths.  There  was  Sir  Walter  What-do-you- 
call-him,  and  the  Hon.  Mr.  —  I've  forgotten,  and  the  Marquis 

—  I-never-knew,  and  Baron  Blank,  and  Lord  Nozoo.  And 
there  were  several  English  ladyships,  very  fair  and  very  cold, 
with  very  highly-dressed  hair  and  low-dressed  shoulders,  with 
prononces  noses  and  retreating  chins  —  a  proud,  stately,  and 
high-bred  loveliness,  far  as  the  north  pole  from  the  glowing, 
passionate,  and  darkly-splendid  beauty  of  the  Roman  ladies 
of  high  rank. 

As  for  the  Italians,  Germans,  and  French,  there  were  none 
without  their  titles.  The  countesses  were  countless  —  a  mar- 
quis was  a  personage  of  little  mark,  and  a  count  of  compara- 
tively no  account.  I  should  have  hesitated,  I  believe,  about 
accepting  one  as  a  partner,  had  one  iijffered  his  hand  for 
waltz  or  cotillon,  thinking  that  for  the  honor  of  my  country  I 
Jiould  reserve  myself  for  a  crowned  head,  or,  at  least,  for  a 
Prmcipe. 

Of  the  Americans  present,  there  were  some  whose  mien, 
manner,  conversation,  and  principles  would  do  honor  to  our 
country,  or  any  country,  any  where  ;  but  there  were  also  others 
of  another  stamp.  Merchants,  retired  from  business  with 
handsome  fortunes,  but  having  left  their  hearts  in  their  count- 
ing houses,  and  with  souls  yet  undivorced  from  their  ledgers  — 


238  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

now  makinrr  the  grand  tour,  with  tlieir  portly  wives  and  pretty 
daughters  and  promising  sons.  They  are  men  who  have  come 
abroad  from  a  sense  of"  fashionable  duty,  and  with  a  vague 
expectation  of  enjoyment,  who  go  about  sightseeing  with  com- 
mendable industry,  making  meritorious  efforts  at  admiring  and 
comprehending,  and  even  attaining  to  something  like  enthu- 
siasm at  times,  but  really  enduring  it  all  with  the  resignation 
of  martyrs.  These  are  usually  what  the  Methodists  call  "  anx- 
ious inquirers  "  in  regard  to  art,  and  are  too  often  the  victims 
of  dealers  in  old  paintings  and  third-rate  statuary  ;  they  are 
generally  better  judges  of  canvas-back  ducks  than  of  canvas 
darkly  daubed  —  of  old  wines  than  of  the  old  masters  —  and, 
turning  from  stocks  to  stones,  find  their  Wall  Street  shrewd- 
ness at  fault.  Highly-dressed  matrons,  who  cluster  together 
and  grow  dolorously  eloquent  on  the  discomforts  and  disgusts 
of  travel,  the  filth  of  Italian  inns,  the  extortions  of  vetturini, 
and  the  perils  and  perplexities  of  the  Dogana.  Young  ladies 
who  grow  warm  on  sunsets,  ex[)and  on  the  Canipagna,  and  are 
at  home  among  tlie  ruins  —  who  are  subject  to  unconscious 
little  lapses  into  the  Italian,  in  the  midst  of  a  conversation  in 
English  —  who  confess  to  an  indulgence  in  i\m  dolci  far  niente, 
and  a  leaning  towards  Romanism,  with  a  growing  attachment 
for  that  "  darling  old  Pope."  Young  men  scarcely  out  of  long 
hair  and  into  mustaches,  who  yet  consider  themselves  booked 
up  on  all  questions  of  European  politics  —  incline  to  the  con- 
servative side,  confess  to  aristocratic  sympathies,  and  pronounce 
their  titled  acquaintances  "  deused  fine  fellows."  • 

In  the  early  part  of"  the  night,  dancing,  and  especially 
waltzing,  was  but  an  example  of  "  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  un- 
der difficulties ;  "  but  at  the  latter  part,  when  the  great  crowd 
was  thinned  off,  it  became  far  more  agreeable.  At  last,  at 
about  half  past  two,  after  the  cotillon,  a  long,  somewhat  intri- 
^iite,  and  very  beautiful  dance,  the  ball  closed. 

1  met  on  this  ni"j:ht  a  son  of  Mrs.  Ilcmans.     He  resembles 


A   TOUR   IN   KUROPE.  239 

fet)mTiwliat  the  portraits  of  the  pcetess  —  has,  I  should  say,  her 
eyes  and  hair.  He  is  a  peculiarly  mild  and  pensive  young 
man,  whom  you  might  almost  believe  had  been  reared  on  his 
mother's  melaiicholy  melodies.  Mr.  Hemans  is  a  devout 
Roman  Catholic  Think  ef  the  sen  of  the  author  of  The 
Forest  Sanctuary  as  a  Papist  J 

By  the  way,  as  my  friends  Miss  C— — -  and  Miss  H  -■■■— 
came  in  from  riding,  a  sh.ort  time  ago,  they  spoke  of  having 
met  the  Pope  on  the  Porta  Angelica  road,  and  of  having  dis- 
mounted before  he  passed. 

"  What^  y&u  pay  sucli  homage  to  the   Pope  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Why  net  ?  "  said  Miss  H — — ^  '*  The  worthy  oid  gentleman 
was  on  foot,  and  all  the  Catholics  in  his  way  were  on  their 
knees ;  the  guard  would  have  commanded  us  t'O  dismount,  if 
we  had  not  done  so  of  our  own  accord," 

**  I  would  have  turned  and  galloped  back,  or  leaped  the 
hedge  and  taken  across  the  tields,  or  sat  ui)right  in  my  saddle 
(Lill  the  guardsmen  pulled  me  eff !  —any  thing  to  Scive  my  pride 
and  principles  as  a  republican  and  a  Protestant." 

This  I  said  walking  the  room.,  setting  my  foot  down  each 
time  emphatically  and  anti-Papally. 

A  few  days  after  this,  as  I  was  riding  with  Miss  C on 

tliis  same  road,  we  saw  the  Poj^e  approaching.  He  was  walking 
in  front  of  his  carriage,  dressed  in  white,  with  a  red  hat  and 
red  shoes,  preceded  by  mounted  guards,  accompanied  by  sev- 
eral cardinals,  and  followed  by  officers  of  his  household  and 
carriages.  We  wei*e  near  an  open  space,  and  drew  a  little  off 
from  the  road,  but  still  in  full  sight  of  the  procession.  One  of 
the  Guardia  Nobile  rode  slowly  by,  giving  us  as  he  passed  a 
look  of  pious  anger  and  rebuke,  as  much  as  to  say,  *'  Frail 
vessels  of  heresy,  will  ye  then  brave  the  Holy  See  itself?" 
Now,  if  a  bluff  Swiss  guardsman  had  rudely  ordered  me  to 
dismount,  I  should  have  sat  firm  in  my  saddle  and  my  senti- 
ments, and  looked  at  my  persecutor  with  much  the   feeling 


240  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OS 

f 

expressed  by  the  spirited  Mrs.  Squeers,  "I  pities  your  ignorance 
and  dispises  you."  But  to  be  looked  at  with  such  silent  se- 
verity, to  be  thought  wanting  in  manners  and  religion^  by  a 
noble  young  Roman,  was,  I  must  confess,  quite  another  thing. 
I  immediately  remarked  that  I  thought  a  change  of  position 
would  do  me  good  after  so  long  a  ride,  and  that  I  really  wished 
to  get  a  nearer  view  of  the  Pope.  So  we  dismounted,  and, 
giving  our  horses  to  the  groom,  approached  to  the  edge  of  the 
bank,  over  the  road,  where  we  should  have  had  a  very  near 
look  at  His  Holiness,  and  received  the  full  force  of  the  Papal 
benediction.  But,  when  only  within  some  twenty  yards  of  us, 
the  provoking  Papa  paused,  turned,  remounted  into  his  car- 
riage, and  drove  back  towards  the  Vatican.  The  quizzical 
look  of  the  noble  guardsman  as  he  repassed  us,  and  the  laugh 
raised  against  me  at  dinner,  are  two  things  which  I  shall  not 
soon  forget. 

On  one  of  the  festas  during  the  Carnival,  we,  forming  a 
large  party  in  the  carriage  and  on  horseback,  went  to  Veil, 
about  twelve  miles  from  Rome,  where  we  spent  the  day. 
There  are  but  the  merest  ruins  of  that  ancient  Etruscan  strouir- 
hold,  which  —  it  makes  one's  brain  reel  to  think  of  it  —  was  a 
large  and  powerful  city  when  Rome  was  founded.  Now  there 
is  not  a  tower  or  a  wall  standing  entire,  and  it  is  with  difficulty 
that  you  trace  boundaries  of  the  town,  and  find  the  few  remains 
of  its  gateways  and  bridges.  The  site  is  romantic  and  impos- 
ing, and  the  surrounding  scenery  wild  and  picturesque  in  the 
highest  degree.  The  only  tolerably-preserved  ruins  are  the 
tombs,  curiously  and  crudely  painted  on  the  inside,  and  con- 
taining many  interesting  Etruscan  remains  —  vases,  plates, 
shields,  helmets,  rusty  old  swords,  and  spear  points. 

The  day  was  bright  and  balmy,  and  we  took  a  picnic  din- 
ner on  the  soft,  green  turf,  with  the  wild  shrubs  budding  around 
•IS,  and  the  early  crocuses  blossoming  at  our  feet.  We  were 
within  the  sound  of  an   old  fountain,  and   the  flowing  of  the 


A  Tovn  m  KUKOPB.  241 

Cremera,  and  the  dashing  of  its  waterfalls.  Picturesque,  skin- 
clad  shepherds  were  watching  their  flocks  on  the  hills  behind 
us,  looking  down  curiously  and  sympathetically  on  our  merry 
circle.  One  of  their  huge,  wolfish  dogs,  doubtless  considering 
us  rude  barbarian  invaders  of  those  classic  Arcadian  scenes, 
showed  fight ;  but  I  insidiously  seduced  his  ferocious  fidelity 
by  a  crust  of  bread,  and  concluded  an  amnesty  with  a  chicken 
leg.  After  dinner,  however,  as  I  was  boasting  of  my  peace- 
ful conquest,  I  ventured  to  approach  my  lean  and  hungry 
friend  empty  handed,  when  he  turned,  and  would  have  rent 
me  had  I  not  beat  a  hasty  retreat.  Among  the  most  cruel, 
suspicious,  and  formidable-looking  animals  I  have  even  seen, 
are  these  same  Campagna  dogs.  Heaven  save  me  from  an 
encounter  with  one,  alone  and  undefended  ! 

We  have  had,  for  the  three  weeks  past,  strange  and 
terrible  weather  —  violent  and  frequent  storms  of  wind,  rain, 
and  hail,  between  which  the  sun  shines  out  with  dazzling  and 
tantalizing  brilliance.  In  these  brief  intervals  of  light  and 
warmth  we  venture  on  our  v/alks,  rides,  or  drives,  but  are  al- 
most sure  to  have  a  heavy  storm  burst  upon  us,  out  of  the 
gorgeous  and  treacherous  heavens,  with  frightful  suddenness. 
Yesterday  we  went  to  the  Pincio  to  see  the  sunset,  which 
promised  to  be  very  fine  ;  but  while  we  were  admiring  the 
purple  and  gold,  and  deep,  delicious  blue  of  one  half  of  the 
sky,  the  other,  with  scarce  a  moment's  warning,  seemed  to  fall 
ui)on  us  in  alternate  sheets  of  rain  and  hail.  The  Tiber  is  in 
the  state  described  by  Cassius,  when  Cassar  and  he  leaped  into 
it,  "  troubled,"  and  "  chafing  with  her  banks  "  —  swollen,  and 
swift,  and  dark.  The  Campagna  is  overflowed  all  along  its 
course,  and  the  poor  peasants  in  great  distress,  from  being  de- 
prived of  work,  and  in  some  instances  of  homes.  Some  coun- 
trymen attacked  our  baker  this  morning,  and  took  from  him 
all  the  bread  he  was  carrying  to  his  customers.  The  robbery 
21 


242  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS- 

was  committed  in  the  open  street;  but  as  it  was  a  case  of  star- 
vation, the  thieves  were  not  apprehended.  The  flocr  of  the 
Pantheon  is  overflowed,  and  it  is  a  curious  sight  to  see  the 
bases  of  its  ancient  pillars  buried  in  the  yellow  flood« 


CHAPTER    XI. 

Washington's  Birthday.  —  The  Emeute  at  Milan.  —  Italian  Free- 
DOM.  —  The  Papal  Supremacy. —  Beggars.  — Models.  —  Tableaux 
Vivants. — GuiDo's    Aurora The    Colonna. — The  Quirinal. 

—  Drive  on  the  Appian  Way.  —  Peasant  Boys.  —  Cardinals' 
Receptions.  —  The  Spbing  Time  in  Italy.  —  Character  of  the 
Italians,  political   and    religious.  —  Ceremony   at  St.  Peter's. 

—  High  Mass  at  the   Sistine. 

February  ^^. 

Never,  in  my  own  country,  do  I  remember  to  have  felt 
such  emotion  as  I  feel  to-day,  in  a  strange,  foreign  land,  on  the 
anniversary  of  the  birth  of  our  beloved  and  venerated  Wash- 
ington. In  this  lovely  but  degenerate  clime, — the  glory  of 
whose  past  is  but  a  gorgeous  pall,  enveloping,  but  not  hiding, 
the  death  and  decay  of  its  present,  surrounded  by  a  people 
powerless,  hopeless,  indolent,  and  oppressed,  but  with  the  de- 
spairing soul  of  great  possibilities  looking  from  their  eyes,  like 
some  forgotten  prisoner  gazing  mournfully  through  strong 
dungeon  bars,  —  here,  breathing  the  close  and  heavy  air  of  civil 
and  religious  despotism,  do  I  feel  what  he  was,  and  all  he  did 
for  us,  for  freedom,  and  for  God  ;  and  my  heart  glows  with 
fervid  gratitude  to  Heaven  for  the  immeasurable  riches  of  that 
great  gift,  not  to  us  alone,  but  to  the  world,  to  the  ages,  of  a 
pure,  heroic  life,  imbodying,  defending,  and  enthroning,  among 
men,  the  eternal  principles  of  justice  and  freedom. 

When  I  find  the  character  and  career  of  Washington  studied 
here  by  the  few  yet  faithful  to  the  forlorn  hope  of  Italian  free- 
dom —  when  I  see  his  name  bring  the  unaccustomed  lisht  to 
eyes  heavy  with  watching  and  mournful  with  disappointment 
•—  when  I  hear  that  name  spoken  with  deep  reverence  by  lipa 

(243) 


244  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

that  have  sworn  devotion,  to  the  death,  to  la  lihertd  del  popolo, 
then  I  realize,  as  never  before,  the  universality  oi  his  great- 
ness and  the  quickening  immortality  of  his  memory.  I  be- 
lieve that,  though  God  has  sent,  and  yet  may  send,  leaders 
as  pure  and  true  as  our  Washington,  —  gifted  with  more  of 
the  electric  element  of  genius,  shining  with  more  sj3lendid 
qualities  of  heroism,  —  that  he  has  been,  and  will  be,  the  secret 
soul  of  every  popular  uprising  against  oppression,  every 
noble  political  revolution  ;  for  his  grand  endeavor  was  sanc- 
tioned and  sanctified  by  a  complete  and  preeminent  success  ; 
lie  attained  to  the  very  height  and  crown  of  his  heroic  under- 
taking ;  and  there  he  stands,  for  all  time,  boldly  relieved  against 
heaven,  the  terror  of  tyranny,  the  strength,  and  inspiration,  and 
example  of  the  oppressed,  the  bold  rebuker  of  kingly  wrong, 
the  stern  vindicator  of  the  people's  right,  the  rebel  triumph- 
ant, the  soldier  olive-crowned,  the  patriot  with  clean  and 
empty  hands.  Such  is  the  far-reaching  depth,  the  eternal 
vitality,  of  one  great,  heroic  life,  sending  its  roots  abroad  into 
all  lands,  and  lacing  together  continents  and  nations  in  bonds 
of  unseen  but  indestructible  sympathy  —  such  the  far-sound- 
ing weight  of  one  mighty  purpose  gloriously  accomplished, 
which,  amid  treacherous  straits  of  defeat  and  despair,  off  per- 
ilous shores  of  rock-seated  power,  anchors  safe  against  leagued 
tempests,  the  great  hope  of  the  world. 

You  have  doubtless  heard,  ere  this,  of  the  emeute  at  Milan, 
and  its  disastrous  termination.  We  see  very  little  about  it, 
except  in  Galignaui^  and  its  version  is  that  of  the  government, 
or  at  least  sanctioned  by  the  authorities,  and  so  can  hardly  be 
impartial.  But  from  an  Italian  friend  I  hear  that  the  plan  of 
revolt  was  most  ably  and  systematically  formed,  and  might 
have  been  successful  but  for  treachery.  Still  I  can  but  regard 
it  as  a  premature,  an  ill-advised,  movement.  The  hour  is  not 
yet  come  —  the  cup  of  this  people's  degradation  is  brimmed 
with  bitterness  —  I  would  have  it  overflow.     They  sigh,  and 


A    TOUR    TX    KUTIOPE.  24o 

lorjk  wearv  and  dejected,  under  the  weight  of  oppression.  I 
would  have  them  cry  out  till  tlie  heavens  heard  —  would  have 
their  agony  turned  to  rage,  and  their  shame  to  a  righteous 
vengeance.  Then,  and  then  only,  will  they  work  out  for 
themselves,  resolutely  and  effectively,  their  political  and  re- 
ligious redemption. 

I  see  evei'y  where  among  the  Italians  faces  restless,  dis- 
satisfied, and  mortally  sad  ;  but  few  expressive  of  the  unflinch- 
ing firmness, joined  to  fiery  valor,  the  strength  and  grandeur 
of  purpose,  and  pure,  honest  devotion,  imperatively  necessary 
for  such  a  mighty  work.  The  iron  pricks  sharply,  but  has  not 
yet  entered  their  souls.  In  most  modern  Italians,  the  primi- 
tive Roman  character,  manly,  and  rugged,  and  stern,  is  but  like 
an  old  kingly  oak  in  decay,  decorated  and  inthralled  by  para- 
site graces  of  poetry  and  romance,  and  a  moss-like  indolence 
and  softness.  The  broad  arms  which  once  wrestled  with  tem- 
pests are  fallen,  and  storms  go  by  unchallenged,  while  in  the 
melancholy  vines  which  cuinber  the  sapless  trunk  sweet-sing- 
ing birds  are  nurtured.  Yet  the  roots  run  deep  and  wide,  and 
there  are  hopeful  souls  who  believe  that  there  is  life  in  them 
still,  which  will  yet  spring  up  in  strength  and  vigor  greater 
and  more  beneficent  than  those  of  old.  God  grant  it  may 
be  so ! 

The  more  I  see  of  Italy,  the  more  am  I  convinced  that  there 
is  no  hope  for  the  liberty  of  the  people  here,  or  in  any  Catho- 
lic country,  save  through  the  total  downfall  of  the  Papal  su- 
premacy—  that  ancient  bulwark  of  tyranny,  that  hoary  con- 
eecrator  of  injustice  and  high-handed  political  crime.  It  is 
true,  the  church  has  not  the  visible  power  and  glory  she  once 
had  ;  but  I  am  convinced  that  she  has  lost  little  of  her  real 
strength  and  weight  in  the  affairs  of  the  world.  She  may  not 
number  as  many  sworn  knights  and  devout  soldiers  as  in  the 
old  time;  but  she  has  her  hosts  of  unsuspected  and  unscrupu- 
lous agents,  her  armies  of  Jesuitical  priests  —  she  is  omnipo- 
21* 


24G  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

tent  in  her  diplomacy,  and  omnipresent  in  her  spies,  in  old 
times,  she  made  arrests  and  executions  in  the  open  day ;  she 
now  arrests  in  the  night,  and  the  dark  sequel  may  never  be 
known.  Some  of  the  terrible  prisons  of  the  Ipqnisition  may 
be  emptied  and  thrown  open,  but  only,  it  would  seem,  to  let 
forth  upon  society  their  poisoned  atmosphere,  sendino^  suspicion, 
and  insecurity,  and  cruelty  abroad.  The  satanic  spirit  of  the 
Inquisition,  which  once  sat  in  haughty  supremacy,  dispensing 
jlames  and  tortures,  has  been  driven  from  his  throne  by  the 
spirit  of  the  age,  but  not  destroyed.  He  may  have  taken  to 
dark  and  mysterious  ways  —  may  act  secretly  and  insidiously, 
may  deal  more  with  the  soul,  and  less  with  the  body  —  but  his 
ancient  power  is  but  little  broken,  his  purpose  all  unchanged  ; 
he  sets  himself,  as  of  old,  against  all  true  freedom  of  con- 
science, against  all  true  enlightenment  and  progress  of  the 
masses.  Therefore  do  I  believe  that  the  only  great  and  suc- 
cessful European  revolution  must  also  be  a  reformation  more 
complete  and  comprehensive  than  that  of  Luther  —  that  with 
the  glonous  watchward  and  battle  cry  of  Mazzini,  "  Deo  ed  il 
popolo  f  "  must  be  thundered  down  the  despotisms  of  church 
and  state  together. 

One  thing  seems  to  me  certain — the  present  state  of  things 
cannot  long  endure.  The  hatred  of  this  people  towards  their 
French  and  Austrian  masters,  and  their  impatience  under 
priestly  rule,  grow  hotter  and  more  intolerable  daily,  and  the 
long-suppressed  indignation  of  their  proud  and  passionate 
spirits  must  at  last  get  the  better  of  their  despairing  indolence. 
The  soil  of  Italy  is  even  now  shaken  with  volcanic  tremblings, 
and,  disregard  these  warnings  as  they  may,  the  great  convul- 
sion, the  rain  of  lire,  shall  come.  Silence  the  voice  of  Free- 
dom as  they  may,  her  indestructible  spirit  will  throb  in  the  air, 
and  her  glorious  impulses  burn  in  the  secret  heart.  And  so 
shall  it  be  till  the  hour  of  her  full  and  triumphant  revelation 
in  this  her  ancient  realm  —  an   angel  of  deliverance  to  tli« 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPK.  247 

captive,   a   Nemesis  to   the  oppressor,  the  divine  genius   of 
enfranchisement,  justice,  and  equality  to  the  people. 

FSBJiUAXY  73, 

This  morninfj  I  returned  from  a  lonw  walk  on  the  Pincio, 
full  of  hope  that  the  dark  and  rainy  weather  we  have  had  for 
the  month  past  —  the  thunder  and  lightning,  and  hail  and 
snow  —  were  at  last  giving  place  to  sunlight  and  wai"mth,  and 
bird  songs  and  flowers.  The  air  on  that  delightful  promenade 
was  clear  and  still  —  the  sky  soft  and  blue,  without  one  threat- 
ening cloud,  and  the  sunlight  such  as  seems  to  melt  through 
your  very  flesh,  till  you  fancy  it  flows  with  a  golden  and  winey 
richness  through  your  veins.  Whether  it  played  in  the  gar- 
dens of  the  slopes,  glistening  over  the  laurel  leaves,  adding  a 
richer  tinge  to  the  ripened  orange,  nestlijig  passionately  in  the 
hearts  of  roses,  or  kissing  pityingly  the  rain  tears  from  the 
faces  of  the  chilled  violets,  —  or,  flashing  on  the  dome  of  St. 
Peter's,  and  agiiinst  the  snow  crowns  of  the  Sabine  hiUs,  —  it 
was  the  same  peculiar,  delicious,  Italian  spring  sunshine,  ten- 
der and  loving  in  its  utmost  splendor  —  not  darted  down  in 
trenchant  rays,  but  falling  softly  and  slowly  —  a  dew  of  light. 

Scarcely  an  hour  has  gone  by,  and  Nature  has  returned  to 
her  frowning  and  stormy  mood  —  the  whole  heavens  are  over- 
cast, and  the  rain  is  falling  in  torrents. 

These  are  hard  times  for  the  beggars,  as  they,  like  Italians 
of  better  estate,  are  extremely  susceptible  to  wet  and  cold. 
During  a  rain,  you  will  scarcely  meet  one  in  a  long  walk ;  but 
in  the  sunny  interludes  they  come  out  upon  you,  from  unsus- 
pected places,  thick  and  fast,  hungry  and  clamorous,  the  lamo 
and  the  lazy,  boundless  in  im}>iidence  and  inexhaustible  in  im- 
positions. Some  two  weekt;  ago,  as  I  was  coming  down  from 
the  Tnnita  di  Monti,  I  found  a  poor  man  lying  by  the  way, 
apparently  dying  of  hunger  and  disease.  Having  no  mone^ 
with  me^  I  ran  into  a  studio  near  by,  and  begged  a  few  6a 


248  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

jocchi  of  an  artist  friend,  while  a  woman 'who  had  come  up  to 
tlie  man  wliile  I  stood  by  hi  in  applied  at  a  neighboring  house 
for  a  piece  of  bread.  She  brought  a  whole  loaf,  which  he 
grasped,  and  began  to  eat  ravenously,  pocketing  the  hajocchi  I 
gave  him  without  a  word.  He  seemed  sulfering  from  low 
fever,  and  was  so  frightfully  pale,  week,  and  emaciated,  that  I 
did  not  believe  he  could  live ;  but  yesterday,  in  nearly  the 
same  s|X)t,  I  found  him  again,  in  quite  as  critical  a  state,  ap- 
pnrently.  Again  I  gave  him  money,  which  he  took  with  a 
feeble  groan,  not  even  lifting  his  face  from  the  pavement. 
His  hearing  was  dulled,  or  his  voice  too  weak  to  answer  my 
questions ;  and,  seeing  some  Italians  approaching,  I  hurried 
away,  fearing  he  might  give  up  the  ghost  at  my  ^eeX^  and  not 
choosing  to  witness  the  melancholy  scene.  About  two  hours 
later  I  came  across  the  same  man,  carrying  on  his  dying 
agonies  in  the  Via  della  Croce,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Piazza 
di  Spagna.  He  was  lying  prostrate,  and  with  his  face  hid,  as 
usual ;  but  as  I  approached  him,  I  observed  for  an  instant  a 
keen  eye  peering  up  through  straggling  black  locks.  Then,  as 
though  he  had  mustered  his  expiring  energies  for  one  last 
appeal  to  my  humanity  and  womanhood,  he  sent  forth  a  fear- 
ful groan.     But  I  was  up  to  him  this  time. 

There  is  one  little  beggar  boy  I  frequently  meet,  who  is  an 
actual  delight  to  me  for  his  witty  persuasion  and  graceful  im- 
pudence. He  is  a  child  of  about  nine  —  not  handsome,  but 
remarkably  clever  looking,  with  lively,  saucy,  laughing  eyes, 
a  musical  voice,  and  the  most  easy,  dashing,  insoicciant  man- 
ner imaginable.  He  begs  for  a  blind  father ;  but  whenever 
he  sees  any  of  us  whom  he  knows,  he  will  leave  the  old  man 
to  grope  forlornly,  and  run  at  our  side,  hat  in  hand,  talking 
smilingly  and  coaxingly  in  this  wise :  "  Good  morning,  kind 
ladies  !  You  have  several  bajocchi  for  me  to-day  !  "  "  No." 
"  Then  perhaps  you  have  a  paolo  —  that's  ali  the  better.  Re- 
member my  poor  father ;  he  is  blind  ;  he  cannot  see  the  sky. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  249 

the  flowers,  and  tlie  beautiful  ladies.  O,  yes,  yes,  you  will 
give  me  something  for  him."  And  we  are  sure  to  give,  if  we 
have  a  hajoccho  in  our  purses  ;  if  not,  he  still  smiles  cheerily, 
saying,  "^w  altro  giornor  (another  day ;)  and  on  the  next 
occasion  of  our  meeting  he  never  fails  to  remind  us  of  our 
promise,  though  always  in  the  most  gallant  and  agreeable 
terms  possible. 

I  am  a  good  deal  interested  and  amused  by  the  professional 
models  who  '"  most  do  congregate  "  on  the  great  flight  of  steps 
leading  up  to  the  Trinita  di  Monti  from  the  Piazza  di  Spagna. 
There  are  often  to  be  seen  picturesque  and  varied  groups,  and 
single  figtires  of  striking  character.  Handsome  peasant  wo- 
men, with  charming  brown  babies  —  wild,  long-haired  boys 
from  the  mountains  —  raven-bearded  young  men  and  snowy- 
headed  old  men  —  and  coquettish  young  girls,  with  flashing 
eyes  and  dashing  costumes.  There  is  one  grand-looking  old 
man,  with  a  bounteous  white  beard,  who  is  said  to  do  a  great 
business  in  the  saintly  and  patriarchal  line.  He  is  a  multi- 
tudinous Moses,  an  inexhaustible  St.  Joseph,  and  the  pictorial 
stock  Peter  of  many  seasons.  There  is  also  a  powerful, 
handsome,  dark,  and  terrible-looking  fellow,  who  does  the 
brigand  and  bravo. 

These  various  candidates  for  artistic  favor  seem  to  have  the 
most  social  and  agreeable  relations  with  each  other —  indeed,  I 
have  remarked  the  patriarch  chatting  and  laughing  with  the 
brigand  in  a  familiar  manner,  scarcely  in  keeping  with  his  own 
venerable  character.  But,  let  an  artist  or  two  ascend  the 
steps,  and,  presto !  the  dark-eyed  young  girls  cease  their  idle 
gossip  and  spring  into  position  —  look  archly  or  mournfully 
over  the  left  shoulder,  or  with  clasped  hands  modestly  con 
template  the  pavement  —  the  pretty  peasant  woman  snatches 
up  the  baby  she  had  left  to  creep  about  at  its  own  sweet  will, 
and  bend?  over  it  tender  and  Madonna-like,  while,  at  a  word 
from  her,  a  skin-clad  little  shepherd  boy  drops  his  game  of 


250  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS     OP 

pitch  penny,  and  takes  up  his  role  of  St.  John.  Perhaps  a 
dark,  dignified,  but  somewhat  rheumatic  old  woman,  with  her 
head  wrapped  up  in  a  brown  cloth,  makes  a  modest  venture  of 
herself  as  St.  Anna,  while  the  fine  old  man  I  have  described 
makes  the  most  of  the  comparatively  unimportant  character 
of  St.  Joseph,  or,  separating  himself  entirely  rom  tlie  group, 
looks  authoritative  as  JMoses,  or  inspired  as  Isaiah,  or  resolute 
as  Peter.  The  handsome  bravo  or  brio-and  jjives  a  fiercer 
twist  to  his  mustache,  slouches  his  pointed  black  bat,  appears 
to  be  concealing;  a  daffoer  under  his  brown  cloak,  or  on  the 
point  of  drawing  an  imaginary  ])istol  from  his  belt,  sets  his 
teeth,  scowls,  and  cultivates  the  diabolicai  generally  in  attitude 
rind  expression.  It  is  altogether  a  vary  amusing  and  skilful 
piece  of  canvassing. 

Though  nine  years  have  rolled  by,  and  brought  revolutions 
and  a  few  other  little  changes  in  Rome,  since  Dickens  spent  a 
winter  here,  yet  these  steps  are  to-day  j)recisely  what  he 
pictures  them.  Indeed,  I  believe  that  our  friends,  the  patriarch 
and  the  brigand,  are  the  identical  ]>ersonages  whose  portraits 
stand  out  so  livingly  in  his  grotesque  but  ex{[uisite  description. 

We  lately  attended  an  entertainment,  at  the  Braschi  palace, 
of  tahleaux  vivcnits^  after  the  old  masters.  Here  some  of  the 
noblest  and  most  beautiful  figures  of  Raj)hael  and  Guido  were 
very  creditably  represented  by  Roman  models.  The  old 
patriarch  of  the  Scali  Nate  played  many  parts  with  immense 
applause.  T)  ei-e  was  also  a  fine  female  model,  named 
Carucci,  who  showed  very  gi-andly  in  some  characters  ;  and 
there  were  s  ;veral  handsome  clnldren,  who  did  their  difficult 
and  wearirome  devoirs  in  a  most  admirable  manner.  Some 
of  the  effects  produced  were  striking  and  beautiful  in  the  ex- 
treme ;  but  the  seWction  of  pictures  did  not  seem  to  me  sitry 
happy.  There  were  too  many  Holy  Families  —  it  is  not  in 
human,  at  least  heretical,  nature  to  enjoy  such  a  monoto- 
nous succession  of  Madonnas.     The  long  intervals  between 


A   TOUR   IN   EUROPE.  251 

the  pictures,  only  relieved  by  some  dismal  harp  playing,  were 
tiresome  enough,  and  the  hall  uncomfortably  cold  ;  so  the  entire 
atFair  was  rather  slow,  and  I  was  heartily  glad  when  it  was 
over.  Against  one  of  the  walls  of  the  Braschi  palace  stands 
the  antique  torso,  to  which,  the  witty  satires  of  the  tailor 
Pasquin  and  his  friends  were  affixed  in  the  time  of  the 
Borgias.  This,  though  supposed  to  be  a  figure  of  MenelauSj 
is  called  the  Statue  of  Pasquin ;  and  the  bold  breeches- 
maker's  fame  is  also  perpetuated  and  spread  over  the  world, 
in  the  term  Pasquinade. 

March  7. 

On  Saturday  last,  as  the  morning  was  bright  and  beautiful, 
we  went  to  the  Rospigliosi  to  see  Guido's  Aurora.  I  had 
been  long  wailing  for  a  clear  day,  to  see  to  advantage  this 
wonderful  picture,  which  cannot  be  viewed  aright,  except  in 
the  full^tided  S|:»lendors  of  such  a  morning  as  it  typifies.  The 
Auron\  is  a  fresco,  on  the  roof  of  the  central  room  of  the 
Casino,  a  beautiful  little  building,  originally  intended  for  a 
sort  of  summer  house,  and  which  you  approach  through  a 
garden,  freshened  with  fountains  in  continual  play,  and  fra- 
grant to  intoxication  with  delicious  flowers.  I  think  I  have 
never  seen  a  great  picture  so  fittingly  enshrined  and  sur- 
rounded as  this.  At  first  view,  it  seemed  that  the  flowers 
which  the  Aurora  was  so  prodigally  scattering  had  been 
freshly  gathered  from  the  gardens  without,  and  that  the  airs 
on  which  she  floated,  which  swelled  the  soft  folds  of  her  dra- 
pery, were  the  same  that  a  moment  before  I  had  seen  stirring 
the  pines,  swaying  the  vines,  and  rippling  in  wave-like  shadows 
through  the  grass. 

After  all  I  had  heard  from  others,  and  seen  in  prints,  this 
chef  d'oBuvre  of  Guido  surpassed  my  expectation.  The  col- 
oring struck  me  as  both  softer  and  brighter  than  any  thing  I 
had  before  seen  by  this  master ;  and  the  composition,  spirit, 
life,  and  soul  of  the  picture  are  beautiful  beyond  description. 


252  HAFS    AND    MISHAFS    OF 

To  me  it  is  a  wondrous  ideal  of  tlie  first  dawn  of  the  crea' 
tion,  rather  than  of  the  many  thoukmd  times  repeated  daily 
miracle  of  nature  —  so  full  it  seems  of  primal  light  and 
strength,  freshness  and  glory.  The  face  of  the  Apollo,  radi- 
ant and  triumphant,  is  that  of  a  young  chaiioteer  just  entering 
on  his  first  course.  The  Aurora  has  ibr  the  first  time  unlocked 
the  gates  of  day,  and  let  forth  the  golden  tides  of  light  an  J 
life  on  a  hlind  and  breathless  world ;  while  the  eager  steps  and 
smiling  faces  of  the  attendant  Hours  seem  to  witness  that  tin  y 
have  never  looked  upon  mortal  suffenng,  or  flown  over  battles 
or  graves.  Even  the  steeds  have  an  untaxed  vitality,  an 
affluence  of  exultant  power  and  energy,  about  them,  which 
shows  that  they  have  drunk  at  tlie  just-opened  fountains  of 
day  —  their  eager  eyes  gleam  with  the  fire  of  the  first  sun, 
their  spread  nostrils  snulf  the  untainted  air -of  the  new  crea- 
tion ;  their  hoof  falls  are  on  clouds  which  are  tl^e  first  morning 
exhalations  of  tiie  world. 

1  think,  of  all  the  parts  of  this  grand  composition,  I  like  tho 
steeds  best ;  they  have  such  exquisite  grace  in  powerful  action, 
such  force  and  fire  in  complete  subjugation,  such  emulation  in 
anity.  All  piebald  and  perfectly  matched,  surely  guided  by 
a  silken  rein,  they  plunge  forward  on  their  airy  course,  strik- 
ing out  their  eight  hoofs  together,  but  with  infinite  small  vari- 
eties in  tiie  large  harmony  of  their  character  and  movement. 
They  are  certainly  the  most  magnificent  pieces  of  mythologi- 
cal horse  flesh  I  have  ever  beheld. 

Among  the  group  of  Hours  in  this  picture,  I  noticed  a  head 
which  is  a  good  deal  like  that  of  the  Cenci ;  and  this  goes  to 
confirm  my  heretical  opinion  that  Guido's  lovely  portrait  of 
that  heroic  unfortunate  is  more  or  less  unreaL  It  seems  to 
me  that  this  master  would  scarcely  have  dared  to  introduce 
into  his  great  fresco  even  a  faint  likeness  of  one  who  at  that 
time  was  an  object  of  horror  and  ignominy  ;  whose  name  it 
was  unlawful  to  speak.     According  ta  the  history  of  the  strict 


A  TOUR   m   EUROPE.  253 

manner  in  which  Beatrice  Cenci  was  guarded,  from  the  time 
of  her  arrest  to  that  of  her  execution,  a  portrait  could  scarcely 
have  been  taken  of  her,  even  by  stealth.  Yet  Guido's  picture 
may  have  been  painted  from  memory,  —  from  the  true  and 
noble  character  of  the  upper  part  of  the  head,  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  so,  —  though  it  in  nothing  corresponds  with  the  portrait 
by  Paul  Veronese,  in  the  Spada  palace.  This  latter,  though 
accounted  by  many  authentic,  is  by  no  menm  beautiful ;  and 
a  devoted  adherence  to  its  lovelier  rival  is  one  of  the  poetic 
faiths  of  the  world  which  it  were  scarcely  wise  to  disturb. 

From  the  Eospigliosi  we  went  to  the  Colonna,  one  of  the 
grandest  old  palaces  in  Rome.  Tlie  picture  gallery  is  very 
magnificent  in  itself,  but  adorned  with  few  fine  pictures.  I 
never  sliall  forget  one  old  painting  I  saw  there  —  decidedly 
the  most  horrible  and  grotesque  picture  I  have  seen  in  Rome  j 
and  that  is  saying  an  immense  deal.  It  represents  a  severe 
contest  between  the  devil  and  a  mother,  assisted  by  the 
Madonna,  for  a  child.  The  mother,  a  frightfully-ugly  creature, 
has  hold  of  one  leg  of  the  baby,  and  appears  to  be  screaming 
"Help  I  "and  "Murder!  "most  lustily;  while  the  devil,  a  disgust- 
ing, nondescript  animal,  made  uip  of  many  hideo?is  forms,  a  man- 
ufactured monstrosity,  a  patcliwork  of  deformities,  with  infernal 
jQre  breaking  through  the  chinks,  has  grasped  an  arm,  and 
buried  his  claws  in  the  flesh.  Ji>st  over  this  group  is  the 
Madonna,  seated  on  a  little  pile  of  pillowy  clouds,  lookinj^ 
very  fierce  and  detennined,  and  armed  with  a  no  less  familiair 
weapon  than  a  huge  poker.  She  has  already  drawn  diabolicaJ 
bl(X)d,  and  has  her  arm  i-aised  for  another  onslaught ;  her 
grim  antagonist  shrinks  back  agliast,  and  you  feel  that  on 
another  exhibition  of  divine  wnjth,  in  the  fall  of  the  poker, 
his  flame-darting  countenance  will  "  pale  its  ineffectnal  fires,  * 
and  that  he  will  take  speedy  flight,  leaving  but  a  sulphureous 
aroma  and  a  few  scratches  on  the  infant's  arm  to  tell  wher^  he 
has  been.  Thus  far,  he  certainly  lias  the  worst  of  it ;  and  the 
22 


254  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

child  is  evidently  safe^  for  this  time  at  least*  I  wonder  mueb 
that  true  Roman  Catholics  of  education  allow  such  disgusting 
exhibitions  of  superstition  and  bad  taste  a  place  in  their  col- 
lections. They  are  not  only  ridiculous  in  themselves,  but  they 
make  the  form  of  religion  which  tolerates,  calls  for,  and 
creates  them  ridiculous.  Yet  there  is  scarcely  a  gallery  in 
Rome  which  is  not  disgraced  by  things  of  this  kind. 

From  the  Colonna  we  went  to  the  Palazzo  Pontificio,  the 
Quirinal.  Here  we  saw  Guide's  beautiful  Annunciation,  and 
a  few,  a  very  few,  other  pictui-es  of  merit.  This  Papal  palace 
is  by  no  means  rich  in  works  of  art,  but  is  a  magnificent  resi- 
dence. It  is  spacious,  and  furnished  with  a  rich  plainness  and 
a  simplicity  most  fitting  and  imposing.  But  though  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  light  and  warmth  from  windows  and  hangings, 
there  is  a  peculiarly  cold  and  lonely  grandeur  about  this  vast 
abode  of  high  and  holy  celibacy.  It  is  all  splendid  architect- 
ure aad  upholstery;  there  is  no  faintest  trace  of  the  taste  and 
^kncy  of  woman,  or  of  the  comforts  and  delights  of  home. 

Yesterday  afternoon  we  drove  out  on  the  Appian  Way, 
some  five  miles  beyond  the  walls  of  this  city.  •  Never  has  a 
drive  over  that  old  Roman  pavement,  through  that  street  of 
ruined  tombs,  affected  me  so  profoundly.  I  was  absorbed  with 
the  grand  memories  which  thronged  along  that  storied  way, 
and  awed  by  the  solemn  sermons  which  those  stones  were 
preaching  of  the  passing  away  of  the  glory  of  man  and  the 
beauty  of  art,  I  cannot  think  there  is  in  the  world  such  a 
melancholy  panorama  of  ruin  as  this  road.  It  affects  me 
more  than  the  sight  of  the  ruins  of  any  one  buildings  however 
majestic  —  this  demolition  and  confusion  of  sepulchres  —  this 
devastating  war  upon  the  sacred  domains  of  death.  It  seems 
to  me,  that  they  whose  tombs  are  thus  battered  or  crumbled 
down,  whose  urns  broken,  whose  ashes  scattered,  are  doubly 
dead. 

From  the  summit  of  a  large  circular  tomb  we  looked  out 


A  .TOUR    TN    EUROPE.  255 

on  the  Campagna,  a  broad,  sealike  expanse,  islanded  with 
lonely  ruins.  The  warm,  spring  sunshine  was  upon  it,  flush- 
ing into  verdure,  almost  visibly  and  momently,  the  frost-im- 
browned  turf.  Yes,  the  delicious,  delectable,  Italian  Spring 
has  come  at  last.  Her  avant  courriers,  the  birds,  made  melo- 
dious proclamation  of  her  coming  weeks  ago  ;  and  her  scouts, 
the  crocuses,  peeped  slyly  up  in  pleasant  places  to  see  that  all 
was  ready.  We  had  before  known  she  was  come  —  we  had 
felt  her  eoft  breath  on  our  eyelids  —  we  had  seen  thousands 
of  violets  springing  in  her  steps  —  but  to  day  we  had  a  new 
and  indubitable  proof  of  her  advent.  On  the  summit  of  this 
tomb,  in  the  warm  sunshine,  sat  two  little  peasant  boys  in 
jackets  and  shirts,  quietly,  and  apparently  comfortably,*  en- 
gaged in  repairing  certain  dilapidations  in  their  nether  gar- 
ments. These  young  amateur  tailors  were  handsome,  grave, 
proud-looking  boys,  who  scarcely  lifted  their  eyes  to  us,  and, 
mirabile  dictu  !  never  once  condescended  to  beg.  They  may 
be  the  descendants  of  the  very  old  Romans  who  built  this  vast 
tomb  —  their  noble  and  warlike  ancestors  may  have  invaded 
Gaul  and  Britain  —  may  have  headed  legions  and  stormed 
fortresses.  What  a  fall,  from  making  breaches  to  mending 
breeches ! 

March  8. 
There  is  a  little  stir  in  the  fashionable  and  ecclesiastical 
world  just  now,  which  rather  pleasantly  breaks  in  upon  the 
sacred  monotony  of  Lent.  There  have  been  half  a  dozen  new 
cardinals  created,  and  on  the  auspicious  event  the  people  are 
called  upon  to  rejoice  and  render  thanks,  and  the  nobility  tc 
throw  open  their  palaces  and  show  off  their  diamonds.  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  the  last-mentioned  perform  their  duties 
on  the  occasion  with  the  most  exemplary  alacrity.  Each  car- 
dinal receives  at  a  palace  —  his  own,  or  that  of  some  pilnoyly 
family  with  which  he  is  connected  —  for  "  they  are  all  honorabh» 
men,"  none   of  your   plebeians.     The   primitive  practice  of 


256  HAPS    AND    .MISHAPS    OF 

selectinoj  the  pillars  of  the  church  from  the  ranks  of  the  peo 
pie  went  out  with  the  apostles  and  early  saints.  Did  not 
Christ,  when  he  "  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head,"  propheti- 
cally behold  the  more  than  kingly  establishments  of  his  Papal 
viceroys?  Did  not  the  disciples,  as  they  toiled  over  Judea  on 
foot,  preaching  the  perilous  word  as  they  "  fled  from  city  to 
city,"  behold  in  blest  visions  their  successors,  the  cardinals, 
rolling  in  chariots  of  crimson  and  gold,  and  dwelling  in  princely 
palaces  ?  Doubtless  the  foreknowledge  of  all  this  consoled 
and  supported  them  under  their  privations  and  persecutions. 

But  to  return.  We  drov^e  first  to  the  Church  of  San  Luiid 
di  Francese,  which  was  brilliantly  illuminated  in  honor  of  one 
of  the  cardinals,  who  is  a  Frenchman.  This  was  a  beautiful 
sight,  but  I  suppose  the  mildest  possible  sort  of  a  suggestion 
of  the  grand  lighting  up  of  St.  Peter's  on  Easter  Sunday. 

From  this  church  we  drove  to  the  Colonna  palace,  where 
the  French  minister  and  his  lady  received  for  the  French 
cardinal,  who  is  now  in  France.  There  was  a  most  magnifi- 
cent show.  A  splendid  suite  of  apartments  were  thrown  open, 
radiantly  lighted  and  filled  with  a  brilliant  assembly.  There 
were  Roman,  Neapolitan,  Austrian,  Russian,  Prussian,  French, 
English,  and  American  officers,  with  rich  uniforms  —  there 
were  Gardinali  and  Monsignori,,  priests  and  princes.  Then 
there  were  beautiful  princesses,  wearing  grand-  old  Roman 
names  and  rich  old  family  jewels.  I  never  before  beheld  such 
a  blinding  blaze  of  diamonds.  The  fair  creatures  were  dart- 
iiiij  off  livinoj  y^leams  and  scattering  showers  of  li^rht,  with 
every  slightest  movement,  from  head,  and  breast,  and  arms, 
and  throat,  and  waist  —  regularly  illuminated  women.  I  de- 
clare, I  almost  felt  the  necessity  of  liniettes  of  smoked  glass 
to  protect  my  dazed,  unaccustomed  sight. 

From  the  Colonna  we  went  to  the  Quirinal,  where  a  vener- 
able and  noble-looking  old  cardinal  received  us  most  graciously. 
Here  the  assembly  was  less  brilliant  and  far  smaller  than   at 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  257 

« 

the  Colonna;  but  we  met  Cardinal  Antinelli  face  to  face, 
which  was  an  event.  You  cannot  see  this  man,  even  for  an 
instant,  without  involuntarily  bowing  before  the  pride  and 
power  of  his  presence. 

After  leaving  the  Quirinal,  we  went  to  the  Farnese  and  the 
Massima,  where  we  were   received  by  two  good-natured  but 
rather  vulgar-looking  cardinals.     By  tlie  way,  each  holy  man 
was  assisted  in  doing  the  honors   of  his   palace   by  some   gra 
cious  and  be-diamonded  princess. 

March  13, 
I  can  hardly  yet  speak  of  Spring  as  having  openly  declared 
herself  in  Rome.  She  is  but  timidly  peering  through  the  dis- 
guise of  her  gray  domino,  and  a  few  loving  lowers  have 
answered  her  smile,  a  few  loyal  trees  put  on  her  livery ;  but 
she  will  scarcely  make  her  grand  entree  while  defiant  old 
Winter  sits  ice-enthroned  on  the  Sabine  hills.  But  never  in 
all  my  life  has  the  first,  faint  dawn  of  the  spring  time  seemed 
to  me  so  beautiful,  so  balmy,  and  bounteous  wi  promise.  There 
seems  in  all  the  air  a  strange,  charmed  hush  of  expectation  — ■ 
the  full-budded  young  trees  seem  quivering  with  impatience  to 
array  themselves  in  the  glossy  green  apparel  which  Mother 
Nature,  having  drawn  up  from  their  trunks,  stands  ready  to 
unfold  —  the  early  flowers  seem  bending  to  call  up  their 
belated  sisters  ;  while  the  birds,  in  their  sweetest  warblings, 
seem  actually  choking  back  their  choicest  melodies  for  a  more 
convenient  season. 

The  gardens  and  grounds  of  the  Borghese,  Pamfili  Doria, 
and  other  Roman  villas  are  becoming  more  ravishingly  beau- 
tiful day  by  day  with  sprouting  grass,  and  budding  shrubs,  and 
gorgeous  flowers  ;  while  in  the  Coliseum,  the  Baths  of  Cara- 
calla,  the  Vale  and  Temple  of  Egeria,  fragrant  violets  and 
wallflowers  and  wild  anemonies  are  making  their  lonely  deso- 
lation more  lovely  than  all  the  smiling,  unworn  beauty  of  the 
others.  There  is  something  so  touching  in  the  tenderly  mater- 
22* 


258  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

nal  manner  m  wnich  Nature  makes  haste  to  beautify  rlecay  — 
sowing  flowers  and  planting  mosses  over  mouldering  walls  aid 
broken  arches,  and  bridging  with  luxuriant  ivy  the  rents  and 
chasms  of  ruin.  Flowers  grow  very  profusely  in  the  Baths 
of  Caracalla,  but  very  sparsely  about  the  Coliseum  ;  and  it 
would  almost  seem  that  something  of  the  atmosphere  of  olden 
luxury  lingers  in  the  first,  to  nourish  their  growth;  and  some- 
thing of  the  air  of  fear  and  the  chill  of  horror,  belonging  to 
the  last,  checks  and  represses  their  s})read  aud  bloom.  But 
this  is  a  foolish  little  untenable  fancy,  for  the  Baths  are  aban- 
doned to  the  beautiful  ministrations  of  Nature,  while  the  Coli- 
seum is  under  the  special  protection  of  the  church,  which  has 
banished  shrubs  and  flowers  from  the  once  blood-dewed  arena, 
to  make  way  for  execrable  slfrines,  pictures,  and  images. 

Nothing  can  now  surpass,  in  clearness,  sweetness,  and  invig- 
orating freshness,  the  air  on  the  Monte  Pincio,  as  we  taste  it 
in  our  early  morning  walks.  There  we  go  to  bid  the  sun  buon 
giorno^  and  to  watch  his  hostile  operations  against  the  icy 
strongholds  of  Winter  on  the  distant  mountains.  On  this 
spot,  favored  with  the  earliest  sunshine,  bird  songs,  and  flowers, 
I  stroll  daily,  my  senses  flooded  with  an  enjoyment  too  intense 
and  deep  for  speech,  and  only  to  be  breathed  in  the  silent 
orisons  of  the  heart. 

I  have  now  been  about  four  months  in  Rome,  and  I  am 
feeling  marvellously  at  home  among  its  grandeurs  and  glooms, 
its  modern  palaces  and  ancient  temples,  its  towers  and 
tombs,  its  obelisks  and  columns,  arches  and  multitudinous 
churches.  I  gaze  on  its  treasures  of  art  with  ever-increasins 
wonder  and  interest,  and  wander  among  its  ruins  with  an  ever- 
deepening,  solemn  delight,  which  I  despair  of  conveying  in 
words  —  which  I  never  comprehended  through  imagination,  or 
the  experience  of  others.  It  sometimes  possesses  me  like  a 
silent  madness  —  rapts  me  away  from  the  present,  and  mer- 
ges thought,  consciousness,  my  very  being,  in  the  great   life  of 


A   TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  259 

the  past.  After  such  times,  when  it  has  seemed  that  the  centu- 
ries have  rolled  back  and  borne  me  into  the  midst  of  the  beauti- 
ful and  mighty  world  that  has  been,  —  wiien  I  have  triumphed 
in  its  glories  and  splendors,  and  revelled  in  all  the  refined 
luxuries  of  its  poetry  and  art,  —  I  awake  with  a  heavy  sigh  to 
the  degeneracy  and  degradation,  the  poor  theatrical  pomps, 
the  false  taste,  and  cold,  prosaic  sentiments  which  surround 
me  to-dav. 

As  to  modern  Rome,  I  have  become  so  used  to  its  pe- 
culiar aspects,  that  on  my  return  it  will  seem  excessively 
odd  to  take  a  walk  in  town  without  passing  half  a  dozen 
palaces  and  barracks,  twenty  churches,  several  obelisks  and 
ancient  temples  —  without  having  splendid  great  eyes  starring 
upon  me  out  of  dark  alleys  and  entrances  —  without  hearing 
bugle  calls,  and  troops  of  horse  galloping  clangingly  by  —  with- 
out meeting  tall,  armed  policemen  in  handsome  uniforms,  and 
dwarfish  French  soldiers  in  little  hats,  immense  coats,  and  red- 
flannel  trousers  —  cardinals  in  flaming  turnouts,  and  peram- 
bulating priests  in  hats  of  queer  fashion,  and  gowns  of  all  col- 
ors, cuts,  and  qualities  —  without  hearing  the  dolorous  chanting 
of  monks  in  funeral  processions,  and  the  piteous  whine  of  a 
hundred  bego-ars  —  without  encounterina:  a  mendicant  friar  at 
every  gateway,  and  passing  a  shrined  virgin  at  every  corner. 

From  all  I  have  seen  of  the  Italians,  I  am  inclined  to  think 
them  a  more  amiable  and  less  dangerous  people  than  they 
have  been  usually  represented.  True,  they  rise  into  sublime 
rages  on  small  occasions,  but  in  their  fiercest  bursts  of  passion 
seldom  proceed  to  extremities.  Their  anger  is  of  the  loqua- 
cious and  imprecatory  sort  —  their  disputes  are  stormy,  and 
accompanied  by  furious  gestures,  but  generally  end  in  nothing 
more  serious  than  sharp  coups  de  langue.  I  have  several 
times  remarked  two  men  in  the  street,  engaged  in  such  an  ani- 
mated colloquial  contest,  cursing  and  gesticulating  at  such  a 
rate,  that  in  England  or   America  a  ring  would  be  instantly 


260  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

formed  about  them,  or  the  police  summoned  to  arrest  thera. 
But  here  they  are  left  to  wreak  their  rage  in  words  ;  and 
they  desist,  at  last,  from  loss  of  breath,  not  blood,  and  parj: 
quietly,  after  having  blackened  each  other's  characters,  not 
eyes. 

One  day,  when  we  were  riding,  we  observed  a  company  of 
Italian  dragoons,  fine,  gallant  men,  passing  one  of  the  barracks 
of  the  French  soldiers,  when  these  last,  small,  brutish-looking 
fellows,  set  up  a  laugh  and  shouts  of  derision.  I  started  with 
apprehension,  expecting  nothing  less  than  a  charge  and  a  hot 
street  fight.  But,  from  contempt  or  conscious  helplessness,  the 
Romans  contented  themselves  with  looking  their  fire,  and, 
while  my  blood  was  boiling  at  the  insult  they  had  received, 
rode  on  with  the  utmost  imaginable  sang  froid. 

There  seems  to  be  no  class  in  Rome  answering  to  the  swell 
mob  of  England  and  America.  That  is  evidently  one  of  the 
institutions  of  a  free  country.  All  meetings  and  associations 
of  the  people  are  so  discountenanced  and  forbidden  that  the 
people  themselves  seem  annihilated.  The  day  has  long  gone 
by  for  popular  orations  in  the  Forum,  and  democratic  discus- 
sions on  the  steps  of  the  Capitoline  —  the  "  greasy  citizens  " 
who  drove  Coriolanus  from  Rome  are  powerless  and  unheard 
of  now.  In  the  streets,  where  two  or  three  are  gathered  to- 
gether, there  is  presently  a  soldier  in  their  midst,  or  a  police- 
man comes  up  with  a  polite  admonition  to  muVG  on  ;  and  at 
night,  after  ten  or  eleven  o'clock,  this  seems  but  a  half-inhabited 
city.  Even  the  Corso  has  a  desolate  and  melancholy  look, 
badly  hghted  as  it  is,  and  deserted  by  all  but  the  police  and  a 
few  strafr^lino;  carriages.  There  are  hundreds  of  youno-  Ro- 
mans  who  were  eno-aofed  in  the  last  revolution,  and  are  still 
suspected  of  republicanism,  who  are  not  allowed  to  be  out  of 
their  houses  after  Ave  Maria. 

Italy,  for  all  its  artistic  and  musical  celebrity,  is  perhaps 
the  country  of  the  whole  world  where  your  eye  is  most  otler 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  261 

offended,  and  your  ear  agonized,  by  bad  pictures  and  bad  mu- 
sic. In  almost  every  church  and  gallery  yoa  meet  paint- 
ings and  statuary  so  monstrous,  grotesque,  and  hideous,  that 
they  haunt  you  for  days  in  before-unimagined  shapes  of 
horror,  and  oppress  you  in  your  dreams  —  a  new  breed  of 
nightmares.  As  for  the  music,  you  hear  it  of  the  finest,  or  at 
least  most  brilliant,  quality  in  good  Italian  society ;  but  the 
voices  of  some  of  the  professional  singers  are  piercing,  rasp- 
ing, wiry,  and  unsympathetic  to  the  last  degree.  Italy,  I  be- 
lieve, almost  beggars  itself  of  great  musical  artists,  to  answer 
the  demands  of  France,  Russia,  England,  and  America. 

I  half  expected,  in  coming  to  Italy,  to  find  untutored  Marios 
among  vetturini,  Lablaches  among  innkeepers,  Grisis  and 
Pastas  among  contndine  —  but  I  was  wofuUy  mistaken.  Yet, 
if  I  was  disappointed  in  the  music  of  the  common  people,  I  have 
been  beyond  expectation  pleased  in  their  manners.  They  are 
almost  universally  good  humored,  gentle,  kind,  and  obliging  — 
in  native  elegance  and  real  politeness,  leaving  their  Gallic 
neighbors  far  behind. 

It  is  my  opinion,  from  all  the  observations  I  have  been  able 
to  make,  that  the  religious  devotion  of  the  Italians  is  a  largely 
overrated  virtue.  In  my  visits  to  the  churches,  from  St.  Pe- 
ter's down,  during  all  times  of  service,  I  have  noticed  very 
few  devout  worshippers,  except  old  men  and  women.  When 
the  young  Romans  go  through  the  forms  of  prayer,  it  is  com- 
monly in  a  cold,  careless,  preoccupied  manner.  I  am  assured, 
by  those. who  have  lived  here  long  enough  to  be  certain  of 
what  they  say,  that  there  is  an  immense  amount  of  atheism 
among  nomirial  Roman  Catholics.  Even  the  children  are  pre- 
cocious truants  from  the  school  of  the  holy  faith.  The  priests 
on  Sundays  send  out  young  boys,  bearing  crosses  and  ringing 
bells,  to  call  other  children  to  catechism  ;  but  I  have  noticed 
they  enlist  few  recruits,  especially  since  this  fine,  sunny  weather, 


262  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS    OP 

though  the}  scream  forth,  at  the  top  of  their  small  voices,  all 
sorts  of  blessed  promises  and  fearful  warnings.  Sometimes  a 
troop  of  ragged  urchins,  who  have  followed  them  about  for  the 
show  of  the  thing,  disgrace  themselves  by  deserting  at  the 
church  steps.  As  for  the  priests,  some  of  the  younger  ones 
have  a  look  of  fasting,  watching,  and  penance,  devout  to  ghast- 
liness.  They  creep  along  tlie  streets  in  their  black  or  coarse 
brown  robes,  with  their  dull,  downcast  eyes,  expressing  a  de- 
gree of  humility  and  abnegation  which  is  next  to  annihilation 
itself.  But  the  elder  priests  have  evidently  grown  in  worldly 
wisdom,  flesh,  rosiness,  and  general  jollity  of  appearance. 
There  are  few  among  these  who  look  the  saint  or  the  an- 
chorite ;  indeed,  I  am  inclined  to  suspect  that  the  Hibernian 
shrewdness  of  the  pilgrim  wlio  boiled  the  peas  he  had  vowed 
to  wear  in  his  shoes  is  a  quality  which  prevails  to  a  considera- 
ble extent  among  the  fathers  of  the  church. 

On  last  Thursday  we  went  to  St.  Peter's  to  see  the  new 
cardinals  offer  their  devotions  at  three  or  four  of  the  princi- 
pal shrines.  They  came  in  state,  and  one  of  the  finest  sights 
I  have  yet  seen  was  their  arrival  at  the  church  in  theii 
splendid  equipages,  with  all  the  otficers  and  servants  of  their 
establishments,  preceded  and  followed  by  mounted  guards 
But  to  me  there  was  something  essentially  absurd  in  all  this 
pomp  and  parade,  on  the  occasion  of  four  or  five  old  men 
going  to  church  to  say  their  prayers. 

This  morning  there  was  high  mass  performed  in  the  Sis- 
tine  chapel,  in  presence  of  the  Pope  and  a  full  conclave  * 
of  cardinals  —  those  I  have  mentioned  wearing:  their  new 
honors,  and  airing  their  new  robes  of  high  spiritual  state  for 
the  first  time.  It  was  evident  that  their  little  blunders  and 
yauchertes,  during  the  ceremonies,  were  neither  unobserved 
nor^unenjoyed  by  their  elder  and  more  au  fait  brethren. 

I  am  becoming  excessively  fond  of  the  Italian  language,  a* 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  263 

gpoken  by  the  Romans.  It  is  peculiarly  the  language  ol"  pas- 
sion and  sorrow  —  it  sounds  of  the  great  past,  as  shells  sound 
of  the  sea.  It  is  like  a  rich-flowering  shrub  grafted  on  the 
decayed  trunk  of  the  majestic  Latin  —  or  rather  it  is  the 
softened  and  melancholy  echo  of  that  trumpet-like  toDgu<? 
which  once  pealea  o?er  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A.  Qall.)P  on  the  Campagxa.  —  The  Church  of  the  CAPPUccna.  — 

The    TJNDEK-GROUiND    CeMETERY.  ViSIT    TO    THE    GaLLERIES  OF  TH« 

Vatican  by  Torchlight.  —  Holy  Week.  —  Palm  Sunday.  —  Thh 
Miserere  in  the  Sistine  Chapel.  —  Scene  at  the  Entrance.  — 
The  Ceremonies  of  Holy  Thursday.  —  The  Crowd  and  Crush. 
—  The  Pope  waits  upon  the  Apostles  at  the  Tarle.  —  Mise- 
rere IN  St.  Peter's.  —  Washing  the  Altar,  and  Exhibition  of 
the  Relics.  —  Scene  at  the  Trinita  dei  Pellegrini. 

March  17. 

On  the  14th  we  rode  out  the  Porta  del  Popolo  and  around 
the  city  walls  to  the  Porta  San  Lorenzo,  from  whence  we  fol- 
lowed the  road  to  a  grand  old  bridge,  the  Ponte  Mammolo, 
across  the  Anio.  ' 

From  this  spot  we  explored  the  by-roads  and  lanes  in  vari- 
ous directions,  in  search  of  a  good  open  piece  of  Campagna 
This  we  found,  at  last,  a  glorious  stretch  of  rirm,  grassy 
flowery,  undulating  ground,  where  we  gave  free  rein  to  our 
horses,  who,  the  moment  tjieir  hoofs  struck  on  the  turf,  seemed 
possessed  with  all  the  fresh,  glad  impulses  and  elastic  vigor  of 
the  spring,  tossed  their  heads,  leaped  at  once  into  a  mad  gal- 
lop, and  ran  till  the  very  winds  were  outwinded.  Yet  not  so 
swiftly  did  they  fly  but  that  we  caught  the  smell  of  the  violets 
crushed  beneath  their  feet,  and  marked  all  the  lovely  shadows 
flung  about  us  from  purple  clouds  floating  above.  1  !iere  were 
larks  overhead,  singing  as  they  soared  —  some  ascending  to- 
wards heaven  in  a  spiral  column  of  sweet  sound  —  some  cir- 
•^jling  slowly  in  a  level  orbit  of  song  —  some  dropping  towards 
<»arth  in  lessening  circles,  as  though  whirling  in  a  vortex  of 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  265 

melody.  The  Carapagiia  was  dotted  with  flocks  of  snowy 
sheep,  which  looked  like  the  shadows  of  the  fleecy,  wandering 
clouds  which  flecked  the  fields  of  heaven  —  the  sky  was  soft, 
the  sunlight  mild  and  variable,  the  very  soul  of  spring  was 
abroad  on  the  air. 

The  entire  ride  was  one  succession  of  delicious  pictures  and 
more  delicious  sensations  —  one  of  those  perfect  pleasures, 
half  physical,  half  spiritual,  the  sentiment  and  enjoyment  of 
which  I  long  intensely,  but,  alas !  I  know  how  vainly,  to  con- 
vey to  others. 

To  return  from  such  a  ride,  with  the  soul  filled  with  images 
of  beauty,  and  the  frame  invigorated  by  pure  air  and  noble 
exercise,  with  the  heart  expanded  by  the  love  of  nature,  and 
the  pulses  all  in  bounding  play  —  then  to  pass  through  one  of 
the  old  historic  gates,  and  by  the  Coliseum,  and  through  the 
Roman  Forum — to  have  the  grand  shadows  of  the  past  flung 
about  you  with  the  shadows  of  the  twilight — this  completes 
and  cix)wns  an  ordinary  pleasure  with  a  sentiment  poetic 
almost  to  sublimity. 

This  morning  we  witnessed  a  beautiful  sight  from  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Pincio.  There  was  a  heavy,  silvery  fog  covering 
the  whole  city  —  a  sea  of  mist  rolling  over  it  in  beautiful,  bil- 
lowy masses.  At  one  time,  the  tower  of  the  Capitol  and  the 
dome  of  St.  Peter's  were  the  only  distant  objects  distinctly 
above  it;  while  the  villas  on  the  hills  beyond  the  Vatican 
looked  like  castles  in  the  air.  There  v/as  one  which  was  so 
beautiful  it  reminded  me  of  some  of  the  glimpses  which  the 
"  Pilgrim  "  caught  of  the  heavenly  city  from  the  "  Delectable 
Mountains." 

Yesterday  I  visited  the  Church  of  the  Cappuccini  —  St. 
Maria  della  Concezione  —  where  I  saw  the  Archangel  Michael 
of  Guido.  The  face  is  surely  wonderful  for  its  combination 
of  beauty  and  power,  of  sweetness  and  sternness,  and  triumph 
and  sorrow.  As  he  stands,  wielding  his  slender  sword,  witL 
23 


266  HAPS  AND    MISHAPS    OF 

his  foot  on  the  prostrate  Lucifer,  you  are  struck  at  once  with 
the  youthful  lightness,  grace,  and  tenderness  of  liis  figure,  but 
you  do  not  doubt  that  he  is  hurling  his  enormous  adversary 
hell  ward  with  immense  force  and  velocity.  The  head  of  the 
Lucifer  is  infinitely  more  horrible  and  disgusting  to  me,  for  its 
humanity,  than  any  horned  and  fiery-tongued  representation 
of  the  prince  of  the  infernals  I  have  ever  beheld.  It  is  said 
that  this  is  a  likeness  of  Cardinal  Pamfili,  afterwards  Innocent 
X.,  on  whom  Guido  took  revenge  for  some  criticism,  by  send- 
ing his  head  and  shoulders  down  to  posterity,  by  the  mere 
addition  of  a  dragon's  tail.  "  To  what  base  ends  may  we 
come  at  last "  ! 

From  the  church  we  descended  to  the  cemetery  underneath, 
where  one  of  the  most  curious,  and  cei'tainly  the  most  horrible, 
sights  I  ever  beheld  met  my  eyes.  Within  four  low  vaulted 
chambers  are  kept  the  bones  of  ten  thousand  monks ! 

When  a  member  of  this  fraternity  dies,  he  is  buried  in  his 
coars^  brown  robe,  in  the  cemetery,  the  earth  of  which  was 
brought  from  Jerusalem  ;  but,  after  some  months,  his  bones  are 
taken  up  and  arranged  in  a  variety  of  ways  about  the  walls  of 
the  cemetery.  The  skeletons  of  the  most  eminent  or  holy 
fathers  are  preserved  entire,  and  recline  on  couches  of  skulls, 
or  stand  in  bone-built  niches  —  wearing  the  coarse  brown  robes 
and  cowls  they  lived,  and  died,  and  were  buried  in,  and  holding 
rosaries  and  crucifixes.  All  about  them  are  bones  —  columns 
and  altars  of  skulls,  festooned  with  vertebne,  finger  and  toe 
joints  —  ribs  made  into  crosses  —  arm  bones  and  collar  bones 
made  into  lamps  —  leg  bones  supporting  shelves  of  shoulder 
blade  J  and  kneepans — bones  of  all  sorts,  arranged  in  all  sorts 
of  emblematical  forms  —  such  as  scythes,  scales,  hourglasses. 
On  the  ceiling  overhead,  in  horrible  mockery  of  frescoes  ot 
smiling  Cupids  and  Ganymedes,  small,  shining  skeletons  grin- 
down  upon  you,  and  seem  about  to  strike  you  dead.  To  the 
robed  skeletons  in  the  niches  some  .dried  flesh  and  portions  of 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  267 

skin  adhere,  and  from  the  chins  of  two  or  three  yet  depends  a 
long,  grizzly  beard. 

It  was  evidently  expected,  from  the  position  in  which  these 
defunct  fathers  are  pUiced,  that  they  would  wear  a  look  of  de- 
votion or  pious  meditation  ;  but  the  attempt  has  not  been  alto- 
gether successful,  lilxpression  varies  in  these  death's  heads 
quite  as  much  as  in  living  faces.  For  instance,  there  is  one 
who  seems  chuckling  with  sly  merriment  under  his  wormeaten 
cowl  —  one  who  lias  a  foxy  look  of  cruelty  and  cunning  —  one 
who  seems  to  have  died  cursing  —  and  one  who  seems  to  have 
never  died  at  all,  but,  as  he  lies  stretched  out,  with  his  cowl 
shading  his  face,  his  beard  on  liis  breast,  and  his  mouth  open, 
looks  simply  like  an  emaciated,  macerated  old  monk,  sound 
asleep,  and  snoring. 

This  under-ground  cemetery  is  so  small  and  ill  ventilated, 
the  earth  above  the  buried  monks  seems  so  light,  that  one  feels 
that  the  air  must  be  surcharged  with  pestilence  and  death. 
Yet  the  monks  perform  masses  there,  wander  and  meditate 
there  —  breathe  in  the  musty  atmosphere  of  the  bones  of  the 
long-departed  ten  thousand,  and  the  exhalations  from  the  un- 
coffined  bodies  of  the  lately-departed  ten.  How  strange  it 
must  be  for  them  to  contemplate  the  certain  disposition  of 
their  own  poor  remains  —  their  skulls  labelled  and  packed 
in  arches,  and  their  bones  built  and  wreathed  into  ghastly 
ornaments  !  Perhaps  old  friends  talk  to  one  another  in  this 
wise :  "  You  vj\\\  see,  Brother  Anselmo,  that  they  do  not  scat- 
ter my  bones  too  much  —  you  yourself  will  place  my  skull 
where  you  can  come  and  see  it  sometimes." 

On  one  night  in  the  year  this  cemetery  is  illuminated.  Can 
you  imagine  a  scene  more  grandly  horrible  ?  From  yellow 
lamps  and  swinging  chandeliers  of  bones,  the  ghastly  light 
gleaming  on  graves  and  skeletons,  flashing  on  polished  skulK 
and  searchino;  into  thousands  on  thousands  of  eyeless  sockets  ! 
Think  of  the  awful  shadows  lurking  in  the  arches  and  about 


268  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

the  niches  where  lie  or  stand  the  dead  monks,  robed  and 
cowled !  Think  of  masses  being  said  here,  and  penitential 
psalms  sent  wailing  through  these  crowded  courts  of  Death ! 
Think  of  processions  of  dark-gowned,  long-bearded  monks, 
passing  slowly  through,  while  the  cowled  heads  of  the  skeletons 
nod,  and  the  lamps  swing,  and  all  tlje  small  bones  rattle  at 
their  tread  ! 

I  must  confess,  that,  fearful  and  disgusting  as  it  was,  the 
^ight  of  those  old  monks,  half  skeletons,  half  mummies,  had  for 
me  a  sort  of  horrible  fascination.  Loathsome  paraders,  rather 
than  solemn  preachers  of  decay  and  mortality,  they  yet  are  full 
of  the  peculiar  humanity,  half  dead  when  most  alive,  of  their 
order.  Without  their  robes,  you  would  know  them  for  monks. 
They  look  dark,  and  secret,  and  humble,  with  an  indestructible 
air  of  fraternity.  I  had  a  strange  feeling  that  they  not  only 
regarded  me,  but  one  another ;  and  I  half  believed  that  at 
night,  when  they  should  have  the  place  all  to  themselves,  they 
would  talk  to  each  other,  in  husky  and  sepulchral  voices,  of 
the  past  glory  and  present  decay  of  the  church  —  of  matters 
that  concern  their  order  —  of  the  sanctity  and  severity  of  its 
founders,  and  of  the  laxity  and  imbecility  which  have  crept 
into  it  in  these  degenerate  days  —  and,  perchance,  lament  sol- 
emnly and  piteously  together  the  good  old  times  when  pojjes 
planted  their  feet  on  the  necks  of  emperors,  and  the  flames, 
and  racks,  and  oubliettes  of  the  Inquisition  were  in  full  play. 

But  perhaps  I  do  the  cowled  mummies  wrong  —  one  and  all 
may  have  been  mild,  inoffensive,  and  charitable  —  given  to 
fasting,  prayer,  and  ministrations  of  mercy  among  the  poor — • 
men  who  shut  the  glory  of  the  world  and  the  light  of  human 
joy  from  their  cloistered  lives,  that  the  pure  lamp  of  divine 
truth  might  shine  more  clearly  there  —  shut  out  the  sounds  of 
human  struggle  and  pleasure,  that  the  heavenly  voices  might 
steal  on  the  solemn  stillness  —  men  in  whom  the  love  of  God 
abounded,  and  who  were  not  wantin<j  in  lovinjj  kindness  for 
all  his  cieatures. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  269 

Among  the  thousands  of  priests,  monks,  and  friars  whom  1 
meet  in  Italy,  I  sometimes  remark  a  form  of  a  gracious  and 
manly  character,  and  a  noble  and  saintly  head,  borne  with  that 
true  humility  which  is  the  higliest  dignity  —  a  face  thoughtful 
without  severity,  gentle  without  weakness,  wakeful  and  earnest 
without  cunning  or  fanaticism.  There  are  some  whom  you  thus 
recognize  at  once  as  Christ's  ministers  —  poor  and  self-deny- 
ing, meek  and  gentle,  and  .sorrowful  —  going  about  doing  good 
among  the  sick,  the  imprisoned,  and  the  afflicted.  Such  are^ 
the  true  holy  fathers  —  for  the  blessing  of  such  I  would  kneel 
as  readily  as  the  devoutest  Catholic  in  the  land.  But,  as  far 
as  I  can  judge  by  observation,  there  are  few  of  this  class — • 
the  greater  part  are  unintellectual,  inferior,  repulsive-looking 
men.  Many  are  gross,  many  gloomy,  hopeless,  and  utterly 
abject  in  expression.  The  monastic  orders  especially  seem 
soulless  and  decayed  —  the  life  of  letters,  which  of  old  was  their 
peculiar  strength  and  glory,  having  departed  from  them. 

We  are  told  that  the  church  should  be  preserved  and 
revered  for  what  she  has  been  in  the  far  past  —  for  having 
served  as  the  sole  asylum  of  learning  during  the  dark  ages, 
when  floods  of  barbarism  were  sweeping  over  the  earth.  But 
we  do  not  read  that  the  patriarch  Noah  was  commanded  to 
preserve  the  old  hulk  of  the  ark  which  bore  the  elect  of  hu- 
manity, above  a  drowned  world,  on  a  sea  which  circled  the 
globe  —  whose  waves  ran  before  the  sun  through  all  his 
march.  We  do  not  read  that  he  was  directed  to  make  of  its 
storm-battered  and  water-rotted  timbers  an  eternal  habitation 
for  his  race.  No ;  the  good  old  craft,  having  done  its  work, 
was  doubtless  left  to  go  to  pieces,  according  to  the  decrees  of 
Nature.  The  church  was  surely  Heaven-appointed  for  a 
grand  and  beneficent  purpose ;  that  purpose  is  accomplished 
—  her  great  work  for  humanity  is  done.  As  well,  a  thousand 
years  after  the  flood,  could  all  the  life  sprung  from  the  life 
which  once  it  bore  have  been  crowded  within  the  compass  of 
23* 


270  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

the  ark,  as  to-day  could  the  life  of  art,  and  learning,  and  the 
free  spirits  of  the  world  be  brought  within  tlie  bounds  and 
under  the  control  of  the  church. 

March  18. 

Last  nigiit  we  enjoyed  a  rare  pleasure,  a  visit  to  ihe  galleries 
of  the  VaticTin,  and  a  long  conTempiation  of  the  great  statues 
by  torchliglit.  It  was  a  wondi'ously  beautiful,  an  impressive, 
even  a  solemn  siglit.  I  was  one  of  a  party  of  fnirteen, 
mosiiy  i'amiliar  friends ;  yet,  in  the  three  hours  we  spent 
together  there,  scarcely  a  word  was  sjjoken  above  a  whisper. 
There  was  something  strange,  startHng,  ahiiost  awful  in  the 
scene,  when,  falling  a  little  way  behind  the  one  great  torch,  we 
walked  between  long  lines  of  antique  figures,  forms  of  a  past 
and  buried  world,  which  seemed  suddenly  to  spring  up  around  us 
and  live  out  before  us  from  the  dissolving  darkness.  Our  friend 
Mr.  H ,  who  was  with  me,  said,  in  his  quick,  earnest,  char- 
acteristic manner,  "  Don't  you  wish  the  torch  could  be  extin- 
guished for  a  moment?"  "  Why?"  I  asked.  ''  0,  I  think  it 
would  look  so  like  the  resurrection  /  "  But  1  am  sure  the  scene 
had  enough  of  that  look  as  i^  was. 

After  all  I  had  heard,  I  was  astonished  by  the  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  torchlight  on  most  of  the  great  statues.  It  were 
im{)ossible  to  imagine  any  thing  more  lifelike  or  godlike  than 
the  Apollo  Belvidere,  the  Minerva  Medica,  and  the  head  of 
love.  Among  many  others,  I  noticed,  as  showing  to  great  ad- 
vantase,  the  Venus  coming  from  the  bath,  the  Antinous,  the 
Ariadne,  the  exquisitely  draped  figure  of  Modestia,  the  statue 
of  Demosthenes,  the  head  of  the  young  Augustus,  the  Faun 
and  Cupid  of  Praxiteles,  that  most  glorious  fragment,  the 
Torso  Belvidere,  and  the  colossal  figure  of  Father  Nile,  alive 
with  wee  children,  like  Lemuel  Gulliver  swarming  with 
Liliputians.  But  upon  the  group  of  the  Laocoon  the  effect 
was  absolutely  terrible.  To  my  eye,  it  lifted  it  at  once  from 
the  merely  painful  and  horrible   to  awfulness  and  sublimity 


A    TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  271 

All  the  injuries  wliicli  that  marvellous  masterpiece  of  art  has 
sustained,  all  the  modern  restorations^  were  lost ;  while,  by 
the  new  and  deep  shadows  flung  about  it,  the  action,  the 
agony,  the  terror,  all  the  tremendous  tragedy  of  the  group 
were  infinitely  heightened  and  intensified. 

I  almost  looked  to  see  the  drapery  heave  on  the  breast  of 
the  sleeping  Ariadne,  to  see  her  heavy  eyelids  lift  under  the 
glare  of  the  torch. 

The  vulgar  and  brutally  powerful  figures  of  Canova's 
Boxers  took  neither  beauty  nor  dignity  from  the  light  by 
which  the  ancients  viewed  their  pure  and  majestic  works  ; 
while  his  Perseus,  that  presumptuous  plagiarism  in  stone, 
shone  all  the  poorer  in  its  fair  emptiness  of  face,  and  in  the 
theatrical  strut  and  stretch  of  its  extravagant  pose.  But  the 
Apollo,  peerless  in  beautiful  majesty,  instinct  with  unconscious 
diwnity,  seemed  bursting  from  the  darkness,  radiating  new  light 
from  his  triumphant  brow,  breathing  new  life  from  his  delicate, 
disdainful  lips.  I  bowed  before  him  as  the  most  worthily 
immortal  shape  of  power,  and  beauty,  and  grace,  the  fairest  and 
highest  heathen  imagining  of  a  God,  that  the  world  contains. 

March  21. 

Yesterday  began  Holy  Week  with  the  imposing  but  tedious 
ceremonies  of  Palm  Sunday  at  St.  Peter's. 

At  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  were  in  our  places  — 
seats  erected  for  the  occasion  near  the  high  altar,  dressed  in 
the  costume  prescribed  by  church  etiquette  —  black  through- 
out, with  black  veils  on  our  heads.  At  about  ten  the  Pope 
entered,  and  the  rites,  ordinary  and  extraordinary,  the  masses 
and  processions,  continiied  until  one. 

The  entrance  of  the  Pope  into  this  his  grandest  basilica 
was,  as  usual,  a  beautiful  and  brilliant  sight.  He  came 
splendidly  vested,  wearing  his  mitre,  and  borne  in  his  chair  of 
.state   under  a  gorgeous  canopy,  between   the  Jiabelli  —  two 


272  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

enormous  fans  of  white  peacock  feathers.  He  was  preceded 
and  followed  by  cardinals,  bishops,  archbishops,  monsignori, 
abbots,  the  apostolic  prothonotaries,  generals  of  the  religious 
orders,  officers  of  the  state,  of  the  army,  of  his  household,  and 
the  Guardia  Nobile. 

He  took  his  seat  on  the  throne,  and  received  the  homage  of 
the  cardinals,  who,  kneeling,  kissed  his  right  hand,  covered 
with  the  red  cope.  This  is  a  ceremony  which  is  always  gone 
through  with  in  the  most  formal,  mechanical,  business-like 
manner  possible.  Some  palms,  not  in  natural  branches,  but 
cut  and  wreathed  in  various  strange,  fantastic  forms,  lay  on 
the  altar.  The  Pope's  chief  sacristan  took  one  of  these,  a 
deacon  another,  a  sub-deacon  a  third,  and  knelt  at  the  foot  of 
the  throne.  His  Holiness  read  prayers  over  them,  sprinkled 
them  with  holy  water,  and  incensed  them  three  times.  One 
of  these  is  held  beside  the  throne  by  the  prince  assistant  during 
the  service  ;  another  is  borne  by  the  Pope  when  in  pro- 
cession. 

After  this,  multitudes  of  palms  were  brought  up  for  the  Papal 
benediction.  First  came  the  cardinals,  each,  as  he  received 
his  palm  from  the  Pope,  kissing  it,  the  right  hand  and  knee  of 
His  Holiness  ;  then  tlie  bishops,  who  only  kissed  the  palm  and 
his  right  knee  ;  then  the  abbots,  who  were  only  entitled  to 
kiss  the  palm  and  his  foot ;  then  the  governor  of  Rome,  the 
prince  assistant,  the  auditor,  the  treasurer,  the  maggiordomo, 
the  secretaries,  the  chamberlains,  the  mace  bearers,  the 
deacons  and  sub-deacons,  generals  of  the  religious  orders  and 
priests  in  general,  masters  of  the  ceremonies,  singers,  clerks 
of  th*e  Papal  chapel,  students  of  Roman  colleges,  foreign  minis- 
ters and  their  attaches,  Italian,  French,  Spanish,  Austrian, 
Russian,  Prussian  officers,  noblemen  and  gentlemen,  all  came 
up  in  turn,  knelt,  received  blessed  palms,  and  kissed  the  foot 
of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff.  Among  those  who  voluntarily  de- 
oased  the  dignity  of  their    freedom    and    their  manhood,  to 


A    TuDK    IN    EUROPE.  273 

Protestant  eyes,  at  ]ea^t,  I  noticed  two  young  officers  in  the 
jniforra  of  the  English  army. 

During  the  distribution  of  the  palms,  anthems  were  sung  hy 
the  choir,  who  were  caged  up  in  a  sort  of  trellice  workbox 
at  the  right  of  the  altar.  This  long  but  brilliantly  picturesque 
ceremony  through,  the  Pope,  after  washing  his  hands,  again 
mounted  into  his  sedia  gestatoria,  and  bearing  his  palm,  pre- 
ceded and  followed  by  all  those  to  whom  he  had  given  palms, 
passed  slowly  down  the  nave  of  the  church,  blessing  the  kneel- 
ing and  bending  multitude  right  and  left.  This  procession  of 
palms  was  very  striking  and  gorgeous  from  the  beauty  and 
variety  of  military  arms  and  uniforms,  the  more  than  loyal 
richness  of  the  priestly  vestments,  the  gleam  of  mitres  and 
maces,  and  of  iimumerable  sacred  symbols  and  insignia ;  but 
to  me  it  was  neither  solemn  nor  truly  grand.  The  Pope,  it  is 
sai4,  is  always  made  sick  by  being  borne  aloft  in  his  chair; 
and  he  certainly  looks  miserable  enough.  He  moves  his  head 
doubtingly  and  dizzily,  his  eyes  are  half  closed,  and  the  ges- 
ture of  his  hand,  stretched  forth  in  benediction,  is  feeble  to  a 
painful  degree.  It  is  the  situation  in  which  the  irresolution 
and  weakness  of  his  character  show  the  most  undisguisedly 
and  piteously. 

In  contrast  with  the  strong  and  venerable  figures  of  some 
of  his  cardinals,  especially  in  contrast  with  the  powerful  and 
iesigning  face  of  Antinelli,  he  looks  like  a  mere  pontifical 
puppet,  tricked  out  in  the  solemn  splendors  and  girt  about  by 
all  the  pomp  of  spiritual  and  political  supremacy,  but  in 
reality  subject  utterly  and  hopelessly  to  the  will  and  word  of 
those  deeper,  shrewder,  and  more  unscrupulous  intellects.  His 
smooth  and  quiet  face  is  ever  beaming,  and  his  very  presence 
balmy,  with  a  soft  and  aimless  benevolence.  A  sort  of  languid 
goodness  seems  to  fall  faintly  upon  the  people  from  his  mild 
eyes,  and  to  trickle  from  his  delicate  fingers,  in  benedictions ; 
but  nev^^r  may  be  seen  in  him  that  subdued  force  in  action,  that 


271  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

severe  earnestness,  which  should  mark  tne  men  Heaven- 
appointed  to  answer  the  growing  needs  and  hopes  of  the  race, 
and  as  wisely  as  bravely  to  help  on  the  inevitable  progress  of 
the  age.  Yet  he  looks  sincere,  and  under  all  his  placid  meek- 
ness you  can  scarcely  doubt  that  he  believes  himself  the 
highest  and  purest  earthly  receptacle  of  heavenly  power, 
wisdom,  and  grace,  instead  of  that  which  he  has  been  proved 
to  be  —  a  poor,  untempered  vessel,  through  which  the  divine 
element  weekly  oozes,  and  which  is  found  most  empty  when 
for  God's  great  purposes  it  should  most  abound. 

After  the  procession  had  passed  into  the  portico,  two  singers 
reentered,  and  shut  the  door ;  then,  turning  towards  it,  sung 
the  hymn,  "  Gloria,  lam,  et  konor^^  alternately  with  the  choir 
without.  This,  the  effect  of  which  was  very  fine,  being 
finished,  the  sub-deacon  knocked  on  the  door  with  the  cross ; 
it  was  opened,  and  the  procession  returned  in  the  same  order 
in  which  it  went  out.  After  this,  high  mass  was  performed, 
the  only  part  of  which  that  impressed  me  particularly  was  a 
passage  in  the  chanting  of  the  gospel,  when,  at  the  words, 
"  Jesus,  crying  with  a  loud  voice,  yielded  up  the  ghost,"  the 
Pope,  cardinals,  and  all  that  immense  Catholic  assembly  knelt 
with  one  accord,  many  utterly  prostrating  themselves,  and 
kissing  the  o;round. 

But  I  feel  how  hopeless  is  the  endeavor  to  give,  by  this 
most  bare  description,  a  clear  and  just  conception  of  these 
magnificent  church  ceremonies.  After  all,  the  place,  the  sur- 
roundings, were  more  than  they.  The  overpowering  grandeur 
and  immensity  of  St.  Peter's,  under  whose  wondrous  dome  we 
were  ;  the  multitude  of  its  chapels  and  altars,  whose  lights 
gleamed  among  the  distant  shadows  like  far-away  stars ;  the 
warm  splendors  of  the  mosaics  in  the  dome,  rising  .^ircl*:*  on 
circle  towards  heaven;  the  cold  and  awful  repose  of  monu- 
mental statuary,  the  height  and  beauty  of  the  altar,  the  richness 
of  the  Papal  throne,  the  glory  of  color,  the  s'vell  of  music, 


A.    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  275 

and,  above  all,  the  presence  of  that  vast  and  varied  multitude, 
bound  me  in  a  spell  of  wonder  and  admiration,  voiceless  and 
profound,  but  far  enough  from  reverence  and  devotion.  My 
eye  was  delighted,  my  ear  charmed,  but  my  deep  soul  was 
untouched.  With  reflection  came  ever  a  mournful  indignation 
ai  what  seemed  to  me  but  a  solemn  travestying  of  the  humble 
triumph  of  Christ's  entrance  into  Jerusalem  mounted  on  an 
ass,  over  garments  and  palm  branches  cast  on  his  way  by  his 
friends  and  brothers,  the  poorest  and  lowliest  of  the  earth. 

I  own  that  I  can  never  look  upon  pompous  ceremontes  and 
gorgeous  displays  of  any  form  of  religion,  calling  itself  Chris- 
tian, without  amazement,  instead  of  reverence,  and  protestation, 
in  place  of  prostration  of  soul ;  remembering  the  sublime 
simplicity,  the  bare  majestic  truth,  the  grand  poverty  which 
marked  the  life  on  earth  of  the  divine  Founder  of  Christianity. 
In  waters  so  mired  by  the  vice  and  crime  of  the  world,  so 
covered  by  the  argosies  of  its  riches  and  the  armadas  of  its 
power,  who  can  taste  the  first  sweetness,  who  can  behold  the 
fresh  purity,  of  the  river  of  life  which  burst  from  the  Rock 
of  Ages  for  the  salvation  of  nations  ? 

Who,  in  listening  to  the  Latin  ritual  of  this  church  of  Rome, 
can  believe  that  he  hears  that  g-entle  voice  which  taught  the 
poor  by  the  Lakes  of  Galilee  and  Gennesaret,  on  the  mountain, 
and  by  the  wayside  ?  Who,  on  beholding  the  Pope  in  all  his 
magnificent  state,  seated  on  a  throne,  propped  up  by  the  great 
despotisms  of  the  earth,  girt  about  by  foreign  bayonets  and 
hireling  spears,  can  for  one  benighted  moment  believe  him  the 
true  representative  and  high  priest  of  the  meek  and  lowly 
Jesus,  Martyr  divine.  Preacher  of  freedom,  Prophet  of  de- 
mocracy, and  Prince  of  Peace  ? 

But  difficult  as  it  is  for  me  to  comprehend  the  moral  and 
mental  state  of  the  devout  and  all-believing  Catholic,  I  yet 
have  daily  proof  that  these  ceremonies,  rites,  and  relics,  vain, 
unsubstantial,  and  unreal  to  me,  are  to  him  "  the  substance  of 


276  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

things  hoped  for,  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen "  —  and 
when  in  the  temples  of  his  worship,  I  endeavor,  by  a  quiet  seri- 
ousness, to  show  respect  for  that  which,  of  all  the  attributes  of 
the  human  soul,  is  most  to  be  reverenced  —  faith.  Indeed,  it  is 
only  when  removed  from  the  spell  of  its  magnificence,  and  the 
magnetism  of  its  mystery,  that  I  am  able  to  smile  at  the 
incongruities,  absurdities,  and  childish  superstitions  of  this 
form  of  religion ;  whenever  in  the  immediate  presence  of  its 
glory  and  state,  I  am  deeply,  sadly,  impressed  by  its  power, 
antiquity,  and  universality.  As  to  the  indignation  to  which  I 
am  perliaps  too  often  moved,  it  springs  from  my  intense  love 
of  freedom,  and  from  my  conviction  that  the  church  is  the 
great  enemy  of  a  true  and  a  large  liberty  ;  that  her  atmosphere 
has  for  ages  stifled  the  highest  and  freest  aspirations  of 
humanity;  that  monstrous  forms  of  bigotry  and  superstition, 
spiritual  tyranny  and  political  aggrandizement,  nurtured  at 
her  bosom,  have,  vampire-like,  sucked  the  lifeblood  of  the 
world. 

March  23. 
I  have  just  returned  from  witnessing  the  services  called 
Tenehrce,  in  the  Sistine  chapel,  and  from  hearing  the 
Miserere.  Though  these  functions  do  not  commence  until 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  we  were  obliged  to  go  at  two,  so 
small  is  the  chapel,  and  so  great  the  rush  for  seats.  Even  at 
that  early  hour  we  found  a  large  crowd  on  the  stairs  awaiting 
the  opening  of  the  doors  ;  but  through  the  influence  of  the 
American  minister,  a  small  party,  among  whom  I  was,  were 
admitted  by  a  private  passage,  thus  being  mercifully  saved 
the  ordinary  crush  and  scramble.  When,  at  length,  the;  doors 
were  thrown  open  to  the  impatient  outsiders,  the  scene,  but 
for  certain  ludicrous  points,  would  have  been  fearful.  They 
came  rushing,  and  rolling,  and  tumbling  in  like  great  waves  of 
a  boiling  black  sea,  beating  on  either  side  against  the  Swiss 
guards,  who  stood  like  rocks  to  oppose  all  unlawful  inroads. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  277 

Among;  the  men  there  were  great  trampling  and  raising  of 
dust  and  voices,  and  losing  of  hats  and  tempers,  and  sharp 
but  vain  contentions  with  lialberded  harlequins  in  authority ', 
terrible  fellows,  who,  in  their  uniform  of  striped  red,  yellow, 
and  black,  look  like  huge  spiders,  and  pounce  upon  hapless 
heretics  as  though  they  were  flies.  Among  the  women  there 
were  fierce  elbowing,  and  passionate  pushing,  and  crying,  and 
mon-Dieuing,  and  tearing  of  veils,  and  dishevelling  of  tresses. 
Most  entered  with  a  tremendously  accumulated  velocity,  as 
though  shot  in  ;  some  were  tossed  in  ;  some  borne  triumphantly 
above  the  crowd  ;  some,  with  laces  and  fringes  entangled  in  the 
buttons  of  energetic  strangers,  were  dragged  in,  struggling  and 
expostulating. 

This  rush,  and  tumult,  and  confusion  of  tongues  lasted  about 
five  minutes,  then  subsided  into  comparative  quiet ;  every 
available  place,  every  unsanctified  niche  and  corner  of  the 
chapel,  being  filled  by  the  eager  toilers  and  fighters  after  the  most 
recherche  of  religious  pleasures  —  the  elect  few  comfortably 
seated,  the  unfortunate  many  standing  amid  the  crush  and 
heat  of  the  crowd.  I  sat  near  the  railing,  and  must  confess  to 
the  heartlessness  of  smiling  at  the  pathetic  expression  and 
melancholy  condition  of  some  of  my  male  acquaintances.  A 
young  German  amused  me  much  by  his  comical  complaints. 
At  one  time  he  exclaimed,  "  I  shall  be  twice  as  long  to-morrow 
as  I  am  dis  evening,  dey  squeeze  me  so."  At  another  time, 
as  a  tall,  stout  woman  was  leaning  on  his  shoulder,  he  looked 
up  piteously,  saying,  "Ah,  I  am  very  fast  becoming  a 
pancake."  But,  fortunately  as  we  were  situated,  we  were  not 
entirely  without  annoyances  ;  our  peculiar  tribulation  consist- 
ing in  being  seated  near  a  party  of  restless  and  senseless  young 
ladies,  who  could  not  or  would  not  be  quiet,  but  chattered 
like  magpies  far  into  the  service. 

One  of  the  peculiar  ceremonies  of  the  TenehrcB  is  connected 
with  ceitain  tapers,  which  stand  on  a  triangular  candlestick. 
24 


278  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

These  lights,  fifteen  in  number,  are  extinguished  one  by  one 
after  the  psalms,  to  the  last  and  highest,  which  is  hid  behind 
the  altar  just  before  the  singing  of  the  Miserere,  and  brought 
forth  at  the  close.  In  this  process  of  extinguishment,  the  party 
of  which  I  have  spoken  seemed  most  profoundly  interested , 
you  would  have  thought  that  tiiey  were  there  simply  and 
solely  to'  see  the  putting  out  of  those  candles.  Through  ail 
the  solemn  chants  and  pathetic  lamentations  they  seemed  in- 
tent on  nothing  else  ;  and  if  by  any  chance  they  missed  seeing 
one  extinguished,  they  lamented  it  as  a  serious  loss. 

The  Pope  officiated,  or  ratlier  presided,  at  this  ceremony, 
as  there  was  very  little  done  beside  chanting.  The  royal  box 
was  occupied  by  the  King  of  Bavaria  and  his  suite. 

The  Miserere  was  to  me  a  new  revelation  of  music.  Never 
had  I  heard  any  thing  at  the  same  time  so  solemn  and  so  ten- 
der, so  grand  and  so  sad.  It  was  the  sigh,  the  wail,  the 
supplication  of  mortality  unto  God,  yet  breathed  the  profound 
sweetness  of  his  eternal  harmonies.  It  did  not  come  in  bursts, 
and  gushes,  and  sudden  floods  of  melody,  but  in  grand,  wave- 
like volumes,  calm  and  deep  ;  now  swelling  softly  towards  you, 
now  slow  receding  ;  overflowing  the  soul,  and  floating  it  out 
into  the  infinite.  Never  had  immortality,  holiness,  and  heaven 
been  more  eloquently  proclaimed  to  me  than  through  that  cry 
of  the  human  for  mercy  and  redemption  ;  never  had  I  bowed 
before  God  with  more  lowly  pi'ostrations  of  the  heart  and  the 
spirit  than  in  obedience  to  that  divine  evangel  of  music.  I 
felt,  as  all  must  have  felt  who  heard,  that  that  mournful  and 
pleading  voice  of  confession  and  suppli:'£ition,  calling  from  the 
deepest  depth  of  man's  nature,  must  risG  above  all  the  sounds 
of  earth,  above  the  rolling  of  the  worlds,  and  steal  into  the 
ear,  and  search  into  the  bosom,  of  the  Father. 

The  darkness  of  the  chapel  and  the  mourning  vestments  of 
the  priests  added  much  to  the  solemnity  of  this  service  ;  but 
the  strange,  rumbling,  rattling  noise  with  which  it  closed  only 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  279 

disturbed  and  shocked  me.  This  concluding  uproar  is  made 
in  imitation  of  the  confusion  of  Nature  at  the  death  of  Christ ; 
but  to  me  it  sounded  like  very  poor  theatrical  thunder. 

During  the  actual  singing  of  the  Miserere,  there  was  per- 
fect stillness  in  all  the  chapel  —  even  the  talkative  young 
ladies  were  silenced  and  solemnized.  Not  alone  the  voices, 
but  the  very  breath,  of  those  around  me  seemed  hushed  under 
the  spell  of  those  heavenly  strains  ;  and  if  every  knee  was  not 
visibly  bowed,  I  believe  that  every  spirit  bent  in  secret  ado- 
ration. I  have  had  my  soul  shaken  with  more  varied  and 
powerful  emotions  on  listening  to  music,  but  never  so  borne 
down,  so  uplifted  and  expanded  —  winged  to  such  joyful 
heights,  lowered  to  such  sorrowful  depths  —  sent  voyaging 
over  such  solemn  seas  of  thought. 

So  I  believe  that,  heretic  as  I  am,  I  was  able  to  grasp  what 
was  best  and  highest  in  this  service.  Its  deepest  spiritual 
meaning,  breathed  in  the  language  of  music,  answers  to  a  uni- 
versal want,  and  is  comprehended  by  every  soul  which  truly 
yearns  towards  its  immortal  home. 

March  28. 

The  ceremonies  of  Timrsday  are,  perhaps,  the  most  attractive 
of  all  in  Ploly  Week.  On  that  day  the  Pope  washes  the  feet 
of  the  apostles,  and  waits  upon  them  at  table.  As  there  is 
little  interval  between  these  ceremonies,  the  first  of  which  takes 
place  in  St.  Peter's,  and  the  last  in  the  hall  above  the  portico, 
we  thought  it  not  advisable  to  try  to  witness  both;  but,  having 
heard  that  the  latter  was  the  most  of  a  sight,  took  a  stand  in  the 
Sala  Regia,  through  which  the  apartment  where  the  dinner  is 
served  is  entered.  As  we  were  accompanied  by  one  of  the 
monsignori  we  were  early  passed  by  the  line  of  guards,  and 
given  a  fa\orable  position  neai  the  door.  But  here  we  were 
obliged  to  wait  a  full  hour,  during  the  last  half  of  which  we 
were  in  danger  of  being  crushed  to  death  by  the  well-dressed 
raob   behind.       It    was    a    new    and    an    awful    experience. 


280  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

From  the  elevation  where  we  stood,  looking  backward  and 
downward  into  the  black  vortex  of  the  crowd,  the  scene  was 
absolutely  appalling.  Even  as  I  was  situated,  on  the  outer 
edge  of  the  boiling  gulf,  I  felt  myself  surged  against  by  the 
tempestuous  human  torrent,  and,  but  for  the  strong  arm  and 
resolute  will  of  my  friend  Mr.  H ,  sliould  have  been  over- 
whelmed. As  it  was,  my  shoulders  and  sides  were  battered 
and  bruised  by  a  complete  assortment  of  foreign  elbows,  and 
my  feet  trodden  on  by  feet  of  every  nation  in  Europe.  Even 
in  this  unenviable  position  I  had  life  enough  in  me  to  laugh, 
occasionally,  in  a  wild,  hysterical  way,  to  be  sure,  and  to  mark 
certain  curious  features,  incidents,  and  accidents  of  the  scene. 
It  was  next  to  an  exhibition  at  the  Propagandist  College  to 
hear  the  expostulations,  threats,  entreaties,  and  desperate  wit- 
ticisms in  all  languages -^  it  was  a  fine  study  of  national 
characteristics  to  watch  the  rush  and  struo-frle,  the  attacks  and 
repulses,  of  the  crowd.  The  French  charged  with  the  greatest 
impetuosity,  but  the  English  stood  their  ground  the  most 
sturdily;  the  Russians  were  the  n\ost  imperious,  the  Germans 
the  most  brutal,  the  Yankees  the  most  coolly  impudent  and 
resolutely  go-ahead-ative ;  while  the  Italians  gave  way  on  all 
sides,  whether  fr^m  politeness,  disgust,  or  cowardice,  it  were 
difficult  to  say.  During  the  height  of  tlie  crush,  one  of  the 
Pope's  chamberlains  came  forcing  his  way  through  the  crowd, 
ordering  us  to  let  pass  his  party.  Borne  down  by  his  grand 
costume  and  ferocious  mustache,  we  allowed  him  to  drag  by  us 
no  less  than  six  ladies  ;  but  when  the  seventh  appeared,  on  the 
arm  of  a  stout  German  with  a  nasty  imperial,  we  closed  our 
ranks,  and  boldly  opposed  their  passage.  O,  then  to  behold 
the  rage  of  the  stout  German,  who  wore  a  star  on  his  breast, 
and  was  evidently  somebody,  somewhere.     He  abused   Mr 

H in  half  a  dozen  languages,  all  more  or  less  gutturally 

intoned,  and  received  in  reply  a  smile  of  placid  contempt.     He 
then  called  upon  the  Swiss  guard  to  come  to  his  aid  —  impe* 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  28l 

Hously,  frantically,  but,  of  course,  vainly;  whereupon  I  had 
the  temerity  to  turn  and  laugh  in  his  face ;  for  which  act  of 
insolence  I  received  what  I  took  to  be  some  sort  of  a  damning 
in  Dutch,  and  a  succession  of  prodigious  digs  of  the  elbow  in 
the  right  side.  Though  I  made  no  outcry,  I  suppose  I  must 
have  paled  under  the  infliction,  for  the  lady  on  my  enemy's 
arm  actually  held  her  vinaigrette  to  my  nose,  exclaiming, 
"  Etes  vous  vcritablement  malade,  madame  ?  "  "  Oui"  I  re- 
plied, "  mortellement  malade  —  Monsieur  voire  mart  me  tueJ' 

While  we  stood  there,  the  Pope  passed,  going  in  solemn 
procession  from  the  Sistine  to  the  Pauline  chapel,  bearing  the 
Holy  Sacrament ;  then  came  the  crush  of  crushes,  as  the  outer 
circles  of  the  crowd,  borne  back  by  the  guard,  were  forced,  in 
a  heavy,  dense,  stifling  mass,  upon  us.  Such  strangely  inti- 
mate relations  as  were  suddenly*  entered  upon  then  —  such 
involuntary  embracings  —  such  momentary  mtsaUiances  for 
mutual  protection  —  such  fraternizing  among  natural  enemies. 
And  when,  soon  after,  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the 
awful,  final  rush  was  made,  what  a  trampling  on  and  rending 
of  dresses  —  wdiat  a  crushing  of  hats  —  what  a  wrenching 
apart  of  locked  arms  —  what  a  falling  up  stairs,  and  running, 
and  calling,  and  scrambling,  and  contending  !  Young  gentle- 
men bore  off  fragments  of  lace  veils,  like  love  tokens  fluttering 
at  their  buttons  ;  and  I  have  an  indistinct  recollection  of  hear- 
ing a  feminine  shriek,  and  of  seeing,  an  instant  after,  a  gallant 
young  English  guardsman  dash  forward,  wdth  a  torn  lock  of 
fair  hair  entangled  in  his  epaulet. 

The  apostolic  salle  a  manger  is  a  handsome  oblong  room, 
and  on  this  occasion  was  richly  decorated  —  altogether  about 
as  different  as  possible,  I  should  say,  from  that  "  upper  cham- 
ber" in  which  Christ  waited  upon  his  disciples.  The  table 
stood  on  a  raised  pjatform  —  it  was  covered  with  gay  dishes, 
monstrous  gilt  vases,  and  mammoth  bouquets,  making  it  look 
for  all  the  world  like  a  stage  banqueting  board.  Before  every 
24* 


282  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

seat  was  a  gilt  statuette  of  an  apostle,  bearing  some  distin^ 
guishing  insignia ;  opposite  the  table  was.  a  large  platform, 
appropriated  to  ladies ;  above  that  the  royal  box,  where  sat 
the  King  of  Bavaria  and  a  batch  of  princes  and  princesses. 
Between  tlie  two  platforms  was  a  sort  of  pit  —  the  general 
standing-place  of  the  gentlemen.  Only  the  tallest  of  those  be- 
hind the  first  rank  could  see  anything;  consequently,  the  rush 
and  struggle  for  the  outermost  positions  were  tremendous. 
Securely  and  pleasantly  situated  as  I  was,  I  watched,  with 
more  amusement  than  apprehension,  this  exhibition  of  rampant 
curiosity  in  the  lordly  sex,  and  was  not  a  little  startled  to  see 
a  young  lady  near  me  bursting  into  tears  at  the  sight.  On 
my  questioning  her  as  to  her  affliction,  she  exclaimed,  "^//, 
mon  Dieu  I  mon  mari  est  la  bas,  on  le  tuera  I  "  I  assured  her 
that  there  was  not  the  slightest  danger  of  such  a  calamity  ; 
but  she  replied,  ''''Pardon  —  il  y  a  mi  Monsieur  qui  a  deja 
perdu  la  connaissance  ;  "  and,  looking  in  the  direction  in  which 
she  pointed,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  very  white  face,  with  parted 
lips  and  closed  eyes,  tossed  up  by  the  surging  crowd  like  the 
face  of  a  drowned  man  by  the  waves  of  a  boiling  sea.  We  had 
a  comfortable  amount  of  room,  and  plenty  of  fresh  air  from  a 
large  open  window  behind  us,  —  there  was  no  provocation,  not 
even  a  decent  excuse,  for  fainting,  —  yet  a  couple  of  suscepti- 
ble young  ladies  managed  to  get  up  a  sensation  in  that  way, 
perhaps  out  of  sympathy  for  the  poor,  interesting  young  mai\ 

—  perhaps  because  belonging  to  that  class  of  delicate  females 
with  whom  the  syncope  is  a  chronic  affliction,  almost  a  nor- 
mal condition  —  but  who  do  not,  for  that  reason,  avoid  crowds 

—  by  no  means.  About  one  of  these  gathered  several  elderly 
ladies,  offering  contradictory  suggestions,  keeping  off  the  air, 
and  looking  any  thing  but  unhappy  at  the  little  supplementary 
excitement ;  to  the  succor  of  the  other,  ''  un  militaire "  was 
summoned,  who,  in  order  to  remove  her,  was  obliged  to  lift  her 
over  the  railing.      I  was  amused  to  see  her  revive  in  time 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  283 

to  adjust  her  dress  very  properly  about  her  feet  as  she  went 
over. 

At  length,  with  considerable  rather  unapostolic  parade,  the 
thirtren  banqueters  were  marshalled  into  the  chamber,  and 
ranged  on  the  platform  before  the  table.  They  were  dressed 
in  loose  white  robes,  with  high  white  caps  on  their  heads  ;  and, 
had  it  not  been  that  they  carried  huge  bouquets,  presented  by 
the  Pope  at  the  lavanda^  it  would  have  struck  any  one,  I 
think,  that  they  looked,  each  and  all^  as  though  just  about  to 
be  hanged.  For  several  minutes,  while  waiting  for  the  Pope, 
they  were  exposed  to  the  concentrated,  scrutinizing,  criticiz- 
ing, merciless  stare  of  the  crowd.  In  their  queer,  unaccus- 
tomed dress,  they  looked  conscious  and  foolish,  and  smelled 
away  vigorously  at  their  bouquets,  which  they  held  with 
various  degress  of  awkwardness,  and  looked  down  on  their 
newly-washed  feet  in  uneasy  contemplation. 

Immediately  on  entering,  the  Pope  had  his  train  tucked  up, 
and  a  napkin  pinned  about  him,  in  place  of  a  waiter's  apron. 
He  then  washed  the  hands  of  the  apostles,  who,  one  after  the 
other,  took  their  seats  at  the  table,  each  behind  his  particular 
statuette.  Then  it  was  first  clearly  manifest  which  was  which. 
As  usual,  there  had  been  proper  attention  paid  to  character. 
Back  of  the  figure  of  Peter  sat  an  energetic,  determined- 
looking  priest ;  John's  place  was  filled  by  the  youngest  and 
mildest  of  the  party  ;  while,  I  am  sure,  every  I pdy  was  grati- 
fied to  see  a  sufficiently  ugly,  hard-looking  personage  go  skulk- 
ing into  the  place  of  Judas.  With  but  two  or  three  excep- 
tions, they  were  a  most  ill-favored  set  of  men,  and  —  the  truth 
must  be  told  —  any  thing  but  venerable,  saintly,  and  apostolic 
in  their  air.  As  the  Pope  began  his  duties  by  serving  the 
soup,  there  was  a  fresh  and  violent  outburst  of  excitement 
and  curiosity  in  the  pit.  I  was  at  first  scandalized  by  what 
appeared  to  be  a  game  of  leapfrog,  carried  on  in  the  midst  of 
the  solemn  rites  and  in  presence  of  His  Holiness ;  but  I  soop 


284  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

perceived  that  it  was  an  ingenious  contrivance  of  some  yv)iing 
gentlemen  of  limited  stature,  who,  by  hoisting  themselves  up 
by  the  shoulders  of  those  in  front,  were  able  to  catch  a  mo- 
mentary view  of  the  stage. 

The  Pope  —  who,  in  his  tucked-up  gown  and  apron,  and 
with  his  short,  waddling  gait,  looked,  in  honest  truth,  like  a 
fat,  ruddy-faced  landlady  —  was  attended  by  richly-dressed 
prelates,  who  handsd  him  the  dishes,  kneeling  reverently;  and 
whenever  he  approached  the  foot  of  the  table,  the  Guardia 
Nobile  stationed  there  lowered  their  swords,  lifted  their 
casques,  and  bent  nearly  to  the  ground  —  making  the  scene 
queer  and  incongruous  to  the  last  degree.  I  must  confess  that 
I  was  obliged,  repeatedly,  to  hide  my  face  and  laugh.  I  should 
have  laughed  had  I  died  for  it. 

A  priest  read  something  aloud  from  some  religious  book,  to 
which  nobody  appeared  to  pay  the  slightest  attention ;  the 
Pope  seemed  rather  to  hurry  through  his  duties,  serving  course 
after  course  with  a  rapidity  little  favorable  to  healthful  diges- 
tion, and  pouring  wine  very  generously, 

Soon  after  the  serving  of  the  dessert,  he  bestowed  his  bleisj 
ing,  and  retired  with  his  prelates  and  guards. 

Though  the  thirteen  had  not  manifested  any  painful  degree 
of  restraint  in  his  presence,  they  yet  seemed  to  enjoy  their 
meal  none  the  less  for  his  absence.  The  perpetual  taking  off 
of  their  tall  paper  caps,  as  he  served  them  with  meats  and 
wine,  must  have  interfered  somewhat  with  the  principal  busi- 
ness in  hand.  They  certainly  did  very  good  justice  to  a  very 
good  dinner  —  indeed,  it  was  the  general  impression  that  they 
had  previously  fasted,  in  order  the  better  to  relish  this  feast 
sacred  and  extraordinary. 

When  the  dinner  was  at  length  concluded,  thirteen  large 
baskets  were  brought  in,  and  each  apostle  stowed  away,  for 
himself,  all  that  pertained  to  his  seat  at  table,  —  remains  of 
food,  wine,  bouquets,  knives,   forks,  napkins,  and   spoons,  — 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  285 

with  the  gold  and  silver  medals  presented  by  the  Pope  hv  the 
lavanda  —  no  inconsiderable  perquisites,  and  showing  that  it  is 
worth  a  poor  priest's  while  to  play  ar  apostle's  part  for  the 
nonce.  I  should  not  wonder  if,  for  even  Judas's  role^  there 
were  at  least  fifty  applicants  ;  and  for  those  of  the  more  pop- 
ular disciples,  such  as  Peter  and  John,  doubtless  the  competi- 
tion was  tremendous. 

I  am  sorry  to  have  to  record  that  St.  Andrew  and  St.  Mark 
had  some  little  difficulty  about  a  napkin.  It  seemed  that  St. 
Mark  had  accidentally  dropped  his  napkin,  and  had  afterwards 
laid  hands  on  that  of  St.  Andrew,  which  he  was  caught  in  the 
act  of  packing  away  in  his  basket.  But  I  am  happy  to  add, 
that,  on  the  lost  naj)kin  being  found,  the  matter  was  amicably 
settled. 

Half  an  hour  after,  as  we  came  out  of  the  Pauline  chapel, 
which  was  brilliantly  illuminated,  we  observed  St.  John,  with 
an  amiability  in  keeping  with  his  character,  dividing  his  bou- 
quets among  a  group  of  friends. 

In  the  evening  of  this  day  we  heard  the  Miserere  in  St, 
Peter's,  standing  outside  the  Choral  chapel,  through  whose 
open  doors  the  solemn,  full-tided  flood  came  pouring  and  sur- 
ging —  sweeping  abroad  over  the  vast  basilica,  and  swelling  up 
into  its  shadowy  arches  and  mighty  dome.  After  the  Miserere 
a  very  curious  ceremony  took  place  —  the  washing  of  the 
high  altar  with  wine.  The  cardinal-priest  and  canons  of  the 
church,  various  orders  of  priests,  acolytes,  and  young  chor- 
isters pour  wine  upon  it,  and  wash  it  with  aspergiUi,  or 
brushes.  They  do  this,  and  the  succeeding  di'ying  with  sponges 
and  napkins,  chanting,  and  going  in  rapid  succession  up  and 
down  the  steps  and  before  the  altar,  each  giving  it  a  dash  and 
a  wipe  as  he  passes.  Th'ere  was  small  amount  of  solemnity 
in  the  ceremony  —  indeed,  some  of  the  boys  seemed  to  con- 
sider ir  rather  in  the  light  of  a  bit  of  fun ;  but  the  darknes? 
and  mourning  of  the  church  —  whose  pictures  were  covered 


286  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS     OF 

whose  crosses  veiled  in  black,  and  a  peculiar,  monotonous  wail 
in  the  chant  —  gave  a  strange  wildncss,  an  almost  awful  "mys- 
tery, to  the  scene. 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  altar  washing,  the  most  holy  relics 
were  exhibited  for  the  adoration  of  the  faithful,  from  a  high 
gallery,  above  the  statue  of  St.  Veronica.  These  are  solemnly 
declared  to  be,  a  fragment  of  the  true  cross  —  a  part  of  the 
lance  which  pierced  our  Savior's  side  —  and  a  true  likeness 
of  Christ,  imprinted  in  hloodif  sweat  on  a  handkerchief,  with 
which  St.  Veronica  wiped  his  face,  when  he  ivas  on  his  way  tc 
Calvary.  This  last  is  called  the  Volto  Santo,  or  Sacred  Face. 
These  famous  relics  are  set  in  glass  cases,  framed  in  costly 
jewels,  and  kept  with  the  most  jealous  care  -—  never  shown  to 
the  people  but  from  a  great  height,  for  other  reasons,  Y^ry 
possibly,  than  their  great  sacredness.  I  was  rejoiced  to  see 
that  few  beside  priests  and  the  poorest  peasants  knelt  in  idola- 
try, real  or  feigned,  before  the  glittering  deceptions  —  the  im- 
pious impositions. 

This  evening  we  also  visited  the  Trinita  dei  Pellegrini  —  a 
hospital  where  pilgrims  are  entertained  during  Holy  "Week, 
and  where  feet  washing  and  waiting  at  table  are  carried  on 
extensively,  and  in  real  earnest,  by  noblemen  and  ladies  — 
princes  and  princesses.  There  are  separate  departments  for 
male  and  female  pilgrims,  and  our  party  was  obliged  to  divide 
—  the  gentlemen  going  one  way,  the  ladies  another.  No  pil- 
grim is  here  received  who  does  not  bring  a  certificate  of  hav- 
ing come  from  a  distance  of  not  less  than  sixty  miles ;  and 
from  the  wayworn,  weatherbeaten,  and  filthy  appearance  of 
those  I  saw,  I  should  suppose  they  had  walked  at  least  five 
hundred.  The  sio;hts  I  witnessed  that  ni^lit  were  death  to  all 
my  romantic  ideas  of  saintly  pilgrims  in  flowing  brown  robes, 
with  rosary  and.  staff.  Somehow,  I  had  always  associated 
good  looks  and  a  decent  degree  of  cleanliness  with  this  class 
of  devotees  ;  but  such  a  pitiably  poor,  vTetched,  and  repulsive. 


A   T6UR   in   EUROPE.  287 

set  of  women  I  never  before  beheld  collected  together.  Wild, 
coarse,  uncouth,  unwashed,  uncombed,  covered  with  the  merest 
rags,  at  loose  ends  altogether,  some  were  old  and  decrepit, 
none  very  young,  all  hideously  ugly.  Three  or  four  had  chil- 
dren with  them  —  poor,  forlorn  little  creatures,  who  looked  ill, 
and  tired,  and  frightened,  and  whose  dirt-begrimed  faces 
were  marked  by  the  courses  of  many  tears  —  deep  cuts  in  the 
soil.  There  was  one,  a  mere  babe  in  arms,  who  was  half 
dead,  or  idiotic  —  kept  its  great  glassy  eyes  wide  open,  but 
never  moved ;  yet  whose  tattered  swaddling  clothes  were 
visibly  so  independently  animated,  that  I  half  wondered  they 
didn't  move  off  and  set  up  on  their  own  account. 

For  each  pilgrim  there  were  at  least  six  ladies  eagerly 
proffering  their  services  —  eloquently  canvassing  for  the  office 
of  feet  washer  and  waiter.  These  fair  devotees  —  princi- 
pessas,  duchessas,  marchessas,  and  Roman  ladies  untitled,  but 
of  wealth  and  fashion  —  were  dressed  in  black,  but  many 
very  richly,  and  wore  large  aprons  of  some  bright-red  stuff, 
with  waists  of  the  same,  and  a  badge  of  the  Virgin  on  the 
left  breast  —  altogether  a  very  becoming  and  a  slightly -coquet- 
tish costume,  especially  to  the  young  Italians,  whose  dark, 
rich  beauty  showed  to  unusual  advantage.  The  dress  did  not 
suit  quite  so  well  the  pale-haired  and  high-colored  English 
ladies  —  for  there  were  several  of  these,  and  the  most  eager, 
and  bustling,  and  solemnly  fussy  of  all. 

The  entire  company  certainly  went  through  with  their  duties 
to  admiration  —  washing  the  feet  with  their  bare  hands,  in  tubs 
of  warm  water,  with  plenty  of  soap  —  scrubbing  away  lustily 
at  successive  deposits  of  weeks  on  weeks  of  pilgrimage. 

The  feet  thoroughly  waslied  and  carefully  dried,  —  perhaps 
for  the  first  time  within  the  memory  of  the  pilgrims,  —  there 
followed  sonie  religious  services  ;  and  then  they  ascended  tc 
the  upper  room,  each  conducted  and  supported  by  her  lady. 
]  noticed  a  Roman  princess--  whom  I  had  seen  one  night  at 


288  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

the  Colonna  palace  so  blazing  with  diamonds  that  I  almosi 
shrank  back  from  her  as  from  a  gleam  of  lightning  —  come 
up,  arm  in  arm  with  the  most  squalid  and  bedraggled  beggar 
of  them  all.  To  see  the  velvet  of  her  robe  and  the  rich  lace 
of  her  sleeve  in  close  contact  with  the  not  merely  suspicious, 
but  too  evidently  offensive  and  migratory,  filth  of  those  rags, 
was  to  me  simply  disgusting.  The  pilgrim,  who  looked  a 
hearty  woman  enough,  seemed  afflicted  with  a  sudden  debility, 
and  leaned  rather  heavily  against  the  princess.  Perhaps  she 
liked  the  feeling  of  velvet. 

I  pitied,  while  I  condemned,  this  pharisaical  parade  of  a 
soulless  and  worthless  humility  in  a  set  of  women  of  a  limited 
mental  enlightenment,  and,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  also,  of  moral  re- 
sponsibility ;  but  my  heart  burned  with  indignation  against  a 
church  encouraging  these  tramping  devotees,  and  sanctioning 
such  fanatical  vagabondism.  Did  the  hospital  receive  pil- 
grims privately,  give  them  a  good,  thorough  bath,  a  suit  of 
clean  clothes,  entertain  them  comfortably,  and  finally  dismiss 
them  with  exhortations  to  the  Christian  virtues  of  industry 
and  cleanliness,  —  to  a  speedy  return  home,  and  a  faithful  dis- 
charge of  the  duties  of  husbands  and  wives,  fathers  and  moth- 
ers,—  then  it  were  quite  another  thing.  But  this  would  spoil 
the  sight,  deprive  the  noble  Roman  ladies  of  a  favorite  pen 
ance,  and  compel  fair  English  converts  to  content  themselvea 
with  more  commonplace  acts  of  charity  among  their  own 
poor. 

We  did  not  wait  to  see  the  supper  concluded,' but  left  in  the 
midst  of  a  ravenous  discussion  of  soup.  I  had  endured  calmly 
the  sis^ht  of  all  the  wretchedness  I  have  described.  I  had 
borne  in  my  nostrils  that  heavy,  pervading,  noisome  scent 
which  so  surely  betrays  the  presence  of  extreme  poverty  and 
uncleanliness  —  so  sadly  different  from  that  "odor  of  sanc- 
tity "  which,  in  poetry,  hangs  about  the  holy  pilgrim  ;  but  the 
garlic  in  that  soup  was  too  much  ior  me. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  289 

On  the  night  of  Holy  Saturday  they  had  the  last  and  gi'eat- 
est  exhibition  ;  the  excitement  was  at  its  height,  the  attraction 
unprecedented.  The  King  of  Bavaria  was  present,  and  found 
the  Princess  Spada,  the  Princess  Corsini,  the  Princess  Doria, 
and  the  Princess  Piombino,  in  the  suds.  Doubtless  he  was 
gi-eatly  edified  at  the  sight;  but  whether  he  would  like  to 
have  a  hand  in  the  pious  work  is  a  question.  Judging  fzcri. 
his  cold,  worldly,  impassive  face,  and  haughty,  fastidious  air, 
I  should  decidedly  say.  No.  He  looks  like  a  man  who  sees 
through  these  things  completely,  and  is  only  politically  a  son 
of  the  church. 

25 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

K^n   Friday. — The  Scala   Sakta,  at  St.  John  Lateaan. - 
Three  Hours'  Agony. — Miserere   in  the   Choral  Chap«l. — 
Ceremony  of   Baptism    at   St.  John  Lateran.  —  The    Benedic- 
tion OF  THE   Pope.  —  The  Illumination  of  St.  Peter's.  —  Fire- 

TTORiS    ON   THE   PiNCIO.  FaIR   AT    GrOTTA   FeRRATA.  PEASANTS. 

—  Costumes.  —  Frascati.  —  The  Tomb  of  Charles  Edward.  — 
A  Donkey  Ride  to  ancient  Tusculum.  —  Spada  Palace.  — 
Statue  of  Pompey. 

March  31. 
We  commenced  the  sights  of  Holy  Friday  by  visiting  the 
Scala  Santa,  at  St.  John  Lateran.  This  is  declared  to  be  a 
flight  of  steps  from  the  house  of  Pilate,  and  the  very  stairs 
down  which  our  Savior  passed  in  going  from  the  judgment 
seat.  On  almost  any  day  you  can  see  many  miserable  crea- 
tures doing  penance  by  ascending  these  on  their  knees  ;  but 
to-day  the  throng  was  unusually  great.  I  should  suppose, 
from  the  number  we  saw  w^hile  there,  that  two  or  three  thou- 
sand may  have  gone  up  between  matins  and  vespers.  A 
priest  afterwards  told  us  twenty  thousand  ;  but,  w4th  the 
allowance  one  must  make  for  priestly  estimates  in  such  mat- 
ters, it  amounts  to  about  the  same  thing.  The  real  stairs, 
which  are  of  marble,  are,  after  all,  not  touched  by  the  profane 
knees  of  the  penitents,  but  are  covered  with  boards,  which  it 
has  been  necessary  several  times  to  renew.  I  believe  that 
some  very  plausible  proofs  are  given  of  the  genuineness  of 
this  great  relic ;  but,  to  know  it  all  that  good  Catholics  be- 
lieve, it  would  not  in  the  slightest  degree  affect  my  feeling  as 
to  the  wrong  and  degradation  connected  with  the  use  to  which 
it  is  put  by  the  church.     If  Christ  walked  down  these  steps 

(290) 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  291 

as  a  martyr  and  a  malefactor,  it  was  not  that  his  followers,  to 
remote  generations,  should  crouch  before  them,  and  crawl  up 
them  painfully,  with  tears,  and  prayers,  and  groans ;  it  was 
not  that  they  should  be  made  a  holy  show  of,  by  means  of 
which  the  miserable  pittance  of  the  peasant  and  the  toiling 
widow's  mite  should  be  wrung  forth. 

A  fat  priest  sat  in  a  sort  of  box,  near  the  door  of  the 
chapel,  to  take  the  money  ;  and  not  until  we  had  answered 
the  hungry  rattle  of  his  canister  by  a  contribution  were  we 
allowed  to  ascend  the  side  staircase,  to  watch  the  penitents  as 
they  came  up.  I  should  say  there  were  about  fifty  who  did 
"the  ascent  during  the  fifteen  minutes  in  which  We  stood  there. 
Among  these  there  was  a  wionderful  variety  —  richly-dressed 
ladies  and  gentlemen  beside  ihe  poorest  peasants  and  the  most 
squalid  beggars  —  the  old  and  miserable,  the  young  and  beau- 
tiful—  the  soldier  and  the  student,  the  belle  and  tuc  religieuse 
—  all  crawling  slowly  up,  in  the  same  wretched  abjectness  of 
superstition  and  false  humility.  There  was  one  old  dame  who 
told  several  beads  on  every  stair,  and  regularly  prostrated  her- 
self to  kiss  it  —  an  operation  which  considerably  interfered  with 
the  speedy  and  comfortable  progress  of  the  other  penitents. 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  lay  a  large  crucifix  of  porcelain  — 
a  rude,  ghastly  figure,  with  the  wounds  in  the  feet,  hands,  and 
side,  gaping  and  highly  colored,  and  the  dead  face  dripping 
with  bloody  sweat.  Behind  this  stood  a  second  trap  for  trib- 
ute, a  huge  metal  platter,  which  rung  out  alarmingly  loud 
when  a  coin  was  dropped  into  it.  As  the  penitents  came  up, 
they  prostrated  themselves,  and  kissed  the  crucifix  on  the 
wounds  of  the  feet,  the  side,  and  the  hands  —  then  rose,  in^-a- 
riably  deposited  a  pious  offering  in  the  platter,  and  proceeded 
to  adore,  at  a  grated  window  which  looks  into  the  Sancta 
Sanctorum,  a  private  chapel  of  the  early  popes,  which  is  held 
so  sacred  that  women  are  not  allowed  to  enter  it  on  any  ac- 
count whatever ;  and   for   that   reason   you   may   always  s^e 


292  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

tbem  lingering  longingly  before  that  grated  window.  like  Peris 
at  the  gate  of  paradise.  Among  many  wonderful  relics  pre- 
served here  is  a  portrait  of  Christ,  taken  at  the  age  of  twelve, 
by  a  very  old  master,  —  no  other  than  St.  Luke,  —  and  said  to 
be  a  perfect  likeness. 

Among  the  penitents  was  a  fine-looking  young  man  of 
twenty,  fashionably  dressed,  carrying  in  his  hand  an  elegant 
beaver,  and  wearing  white  kid  gloves.  Pie  went  through  his 
penance  with  a  wonderful  expedition,  —  avoiding  with  a  good 
deal  of  ingenuity  the  vulgar  herd  of  his  fellow-sinners,  —  and 
was  brushing  the  dust  from  his  knees  with  his  perfumed  hand- 
kerchief before  the  prostrating  and  paternostering  old  lady,  who 
had  started  before  him,  was  half  way  up.  In  passing  the  ciu- 
cifix,  this  devout  exquisite  seemed  to  look  only  for  a  clean 
place,  and  selected  a  retired  spot  on  the  right  side.  The  reluc- 
tance and  involuntary  disgust  expressed  in  the  face  of  the 
young  man,  throughout  his  penance,  convinced  me  that  he 
must  thus  be  expiating  no  inconsiderable  peccadillo.  Behind 
him  toiled  up  a  poor,  tattered,  fever-stricken  peasant,  one  of 
the  most  wretched  and  woful  objects  I  have  ever  beheld.  His 
long,  black  hair  hung  wildly  about  his  emaciated  face  ;  his«  thin, 
blue  lips  muttered  prayers  ;  and  from  his  hollow  eyes  dropped 
tears  of  grief  and  penitence.  He  prostrated  himself  at  the 
crucifix,  and,  with  a  touching  humility,  kissed  alone  the  feet. 
Of  all  the  kisses  imprinted  there  that  day,  this  seemed  to  me 
the  only  one  which  Jesus  must  have  felt.  Before,  I  had 
looked  on  with  simple  curiosity,  or  with  a  wonder  approach- 
ing to  contempt  ;  but,  at  this  sight,  I  felt  such  sorrow  and  pity 
that  I  could  not  restrain  my  tears.  My  only  consolation  was 
in  thinking  of  that  blessed  moment,  evidently  not  far  distant, 
when  this  poor  man,  here  wickedly  defrauded  of  his  birthright 
of  manhood  and  happiness,  —  despised,  oppressed,  a  pariah  of 
poverty  and  disease,  —  shall  come  into  the  presence  of  his 
oving  Master,  Friend,  and  Br'^ther,  and  "  see  him  as  he  is." 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  293 

Altogether,  this  holy  staircase,  crowded  with   penitents,  is 
one  of  the  most  melancholy  sights  I  have  ever  beheld. 

From  St.  Jolin  Lateran  we  went  to  witness  what  is  called 
the  Three  Hours'  Agony.  These  are  services  of  music, 
prayer,  and  preaching,  performed  in  churches  darkened,  with 
the  exception  of  the  altar,  behind  or  before  which  is  some 
effective  representation  of  the  crucifixion.  In  the  Church  of 
Jesu  it  was  a  large  white  statue  of  Christ  on  the  cross,  stand- 
mg  out  fearfully  against  a  black  background.  At  the  Church 
of  San  Roch  there  was  a  regular  stage  scenery  —  the  Mount 
of  Calvary  at  night,  with  the  dead  Christ  and  the  two  thieves, 
in  awful  solitude.  The  music  at  both  these  churches  was  very 
fine,  but  the  effect  we  had  expected  to  see  produced  by  the 
preaching  was  not  forthcoming.  Formerly,  priests  selected 
for  their  eloquence,  taking  for  the  subjects  of  discourse  the 
sufferings  and  death  of  Christ,  wrought  themselves  up  to  a 
high  pitch  of  excitement,  and  carried  their  susceptible  audi- 
ences with  them,  till  the  scene  often  resembled  those  at  a 
Methodist  camp  meeting,  with  groanings,  and  prostrations,  and 
passionate  weepings.  But  to-day,  though  the  priests  exerted 
all  their  eloquence,  pathos,  and  dramatic  power,  —  clasped  their 
hands,  prayed  extemporaneously,  flung  their  arms  towards  heav- 
euj  pointed  again  and  again  to  the  crucifixion,  burst  into  loud 
sobs,  —  always  weeping  into  immense  red  silk  handkerchiefs,  — 
there  came  but  cold  and  partial  responses  from  the  crowd. 
There  was  some  decorous  crying  among  the  women,  and  occa- 
sionally a  young  man  confessed  to  being  touched  in  his  sensi- 
bilities, by  blowing  his  nose  till  all  rang  again  ;  but,  considering 
the*  extraordinary  outlay  of  eloquence  and  gesticulation,  the 
returns  were  discouragingly  small. 

On  this  day  we    had    seats    in    the  Choral    chapel    at    St, 

Peter's,  to  hear  the  Miserere.     This  chapel  is  considered,  I 

believe,  very  fine  ;  but  I  cannot  say  I  admire  it  greatly.     It  is 

chiefly  remarkable  for  a   display  of  legs   in   its   architectural 

25* 


294  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

decorations.  Gigantic  angels,  in  stucco,  occupy,  apparent!}', 
the  most  untenable  positions  on  the  edges  of  cornices  and 
arches,  and  above  windows,  with  their  legs,  very  strongly 
modelled  and  boldly  posed,  hanging  over.  But,  as  though  to 
restore  the  balance  ot'  things,  on  the  wall  are  curiously 
painted  figures,  wlioUy  wanting  in  the  usual  means  of  peram- 
bulation, but  terminating  in  flourishing  grape  vines  -^  so  ad- 
mirably drawn  that  it  is  really  difficult  to  tell  where  the  angel 
leaves  off  and  the  grape  vine  begins. 

The  Miserere  in  this  small  chapel  was  more  powerful  and 
brilliant,  but  far  less  sweet  and  solemn,  than  that  of  the  Sis- 
tine  ;  indeed,  I  have  heard  notiiing  which  approaches,  in  mean- 
ing and  beauty,  in  tenderness,  pathos,  and  melancholy  gran- 
deur, that  first  Miserere  of  the  Pope's  chapel. 

This  evening  His  Holiness  came  to  St.  Peter's  to  adore  the 
cross  and  the  relics,  and  the  Cardinal  Vicar  gave  absolution 
then  to  all  who,  after  having  confessed,  knelt  before  him  in 
humility  and  supplication.  He  sat  in  a  high  chair,  and  touched 
each  penitent  with  a  shining  rod,  "  and  straightway  he  was 
made  clean  "  —  spiritually,  alas  !  not  physically. 

We  concluded  the  day  by  going  to  the  Church  of  San  Luigi 
di  Francese,  where  we  were  told  the  Stabat  Mater  was  to  be 
performed,  but  where  we  found  ourselves  —  to  use  an  expres- 
sive vulgarism  —  completely  "  sold,"  hearing  no  Stabat  Mater, 
but  being  blocked  in  by  a  crowd,  and  forced  to  listen  to  a 
sentimental  French  sermon,  an  hour  long. 

Early  on  Saturday  morning  we  witnessed,  at  the  baptistery 
of  St.  John  Lateran,  the  baptism  of  a  young  Jewess  by  the 
Cardinal  Vicar.  This  ceremony  was  beautiful  and  interest- 
ing, but,  with  those  which  followed,  of  too  mysterious  and 
complicated  a  nature,  to  a  Protestant,  for  clear  comprehension 
or  .vivid  description.  The  convert  looked  deeply  serious,  at 
well  she  might,  for  the  step  was  a  momentous  one  to  her.  She 
was  dressed  very  ri(*hly  in  white  bro(«ide,  with  a  white   fillet 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  '29Z 

on  her  head,  and  a  veil  which  hung  to  her  feet.  Hor  god- 
mother was  the  Princess  Orsini.  After  the  confirmation, 
whicli  took  place  in  the  church,  we  saw  several  curious  rites 
performed  —  orders  conferred  on  young  priests  by  the  laying 
on  of  hands,  anointing,  and  the  first  tonsure.  In  this  latter, 
the  Cardinal  Vicar  cuts  small  locks  of  hair  from  the  heads  of 
the  young  men  in  the  form  of  the  cross. 

At  one  period  of  tliese  ceremonies,  when  the  Cardinal  Vicar 
knelt  before  the  altar,  one  order  of  priests  knelt  on  the  steps 
behind  him,  and  a  lower  order  behind  them  prostrated  them- 
selves on  the  floor  of  the  chapel,  stretched  out  at  full  length, 
their  faces  in  their  prayer  books.  They  lay  thus  for  at  least 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  chanting,  or  responding,  in  strange, 
smothered  voices.  There  was  something  odd  and  Oriental 
about  this  scene,  which  I  shall  not  soon  forget. 

High  mass  in  St.  Peter's,  on  Eastej-  Sunday,  was  a  brilliant, 
gorgeous,  and  joyous  religious  sliow.  The  entire  church  was 
hung  in  crimson  and  gold,  the  pictures  were  uncovered,  and 
extra  lights  and  fresh  flowers  on  every  altar.  The  Papal 
throne  and  the  canopy  above  it  dazzled  the  sight  with  mag- 
nificent decorations.  The  Pope,  cardinals,  bishops,  abbots, 
guards,  all  were  in  higlu  holyday  splendor,  in  honor  and  joyful 
commemoration  of  the  resurrection  of  Christ.  By  the  by, 
speaking  of  Easter  vSunday,  we  noticed  in  a  little  Catholic 
prayer  book,  the  other  day,  a  sentence,  so  oddly  worded  and 
abbreviated  that  it  startled  one  by  its  apparent  profanity.  It 
states,  "  T7iis  day  J.  C  out  of  Umbo.'''' 

There  was  the  usual  amount  of  inceivsing,  and  chanting, 
paying  of  homage,  "  toting "  about  of  the  old  Pope  in  his 
sedea  gestatoria,  with  the  elevation  of  the  Host,  and  the  blow- 
ing of  silver  trumpets,  as  at  Christmas.  But  the  finest  sight 
of  all  was  the  benediction. 

A  little  before  twelve  we  left  the  church,  and  went  out  intc 


296  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

the  great  piazza,  where  a  vast  concourse  of  people  were  wait 
ing  to  be  blessed.     The  centre  of  the  place  was  occupied  by  the 
troops  ;   surrounding    them  were    various    crowds    of  citizens, 
peasants,  and  strangers,  on  foot ,  and  outside  of  all  were  ranged 
the  carriages. 

The  sun  was  shining  resplendently,  the  fountains  leaping 
towards  the  bluest  of  heavens  —  all  was  peace  and  brightness 
—  the  mercurial  Italians  seemed  to  forget  their  slavery  in  the 
very  presence  of  their  masters  —  even  the  poor  peasant,  rousing 
for  a  time  from  the  slavish  stupor  of  his  degradation  and  want, 
appeared  to  claim  his  share  in  the  hope  and  happiness  of  the 
occasion.  The  Pope  came  out  ujion  the  balcony  with  much 
state  and  splendor,  borne  in  his  great  chair,  which  is  like  a 
portable  throne.  He  read  the  benediction,  which  was  rather 
an  elaborate  form,  I  believe.  We  were  not  near  enough  to 
hear  more  than  a  sort  of  solemn  murmur,  which  came  to  us 
by  snatches ;  but  we  could  observe  His  Holiness,  at  the  close, 
cross  himself  three  times,  lift  his  hands  towards  heaven,  fold 
them  on  his  breast,  and  stretch  them  out  over  the  people,  a 
proportion  of  whom  were  kneeling.  Then  the  guns  from  St. 
Angelo  boomed  forth,  the  bell  of  St.  Peter's  rang  out  joyously, 
the  drums  beat,  the  trumpets  pealed,  and  that  immense  assem- 
blage, so  silent  and  motionless  a  moment  before,  stirred  like 
the  waves  of  a  sea  from  which  a  calm  had  just  been  lifted, 
heaved  sluggishly  at  first,  then  mingled,  and  poured  itself 
away.  Altogether,  it  was  a  scene  which  must  live  long  and 
brightly  in  my  memory  —  not  for  the  imposing  appearance  of 
the  Pope  and  cardinals,  for  at 'that  height  and  distance  they 
looked  like  a  set  of  Marionetti  performing  high  comedy  on  a 
lofty  little  stage  ;  not  for  the  benediction;  or  indulgence  —  for 
I  had  small  faith  in  the  one,  and  I  trust  no  especial  occasion 
for  the  other ;  but  for  the  really  grand  sight  of  that  varied 
and  picturesque  crowd  —  so  densely  packed  in  the  great  piazza, 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  297 

that,  on  looking  down  upon  it,  it  seemed  one  vast  mosaic  of 
human  heads ;  and  for  tlie  brilliant  confusion  of  the  close  — • 
the  tumultuous  and  jubilant  break-up. 

In  the  afternoon  there  came  on  a  terrific  rain  storm  ;  but 
it  slackened  up  towards  evening,  so  that  we  drove  over  to  St. 
Peter's  in  some  slight  expectation  of  seeing  the  illumination. 
The  piazza  was  very  dark  and  dismal,  but  there  was  evidently 
some  preparation  for  lighting  up.  The  rain  ceased,  and  foi 
Dearly  an  hour  the  heavens  were  clear,  and  the  stars  came 
out,  as  though  curious  to  see  what  sort  of  a  glare  and  spurt 
of  light  would  be  brought  out  in  rivalry  of  their  serene 
and  eternal  brightness.  But  gradually  there  came  up,  just 
behind  St.  Peter's,  a  heavy  black  cloud,  w^hich  for  a  time  only 
threatened  to  give  grander  effect  to  the  illumination,  but  which 
rose  and  rose,  and  spread  and  spread,  till  it  covered  the  whole 
heavens,  and  curtained  off  the  stars  for  the  night.  Suddenly, 
with  one  common  consent,  that  great  expectant  crowd  broke 
up  in  disappointment,  and  scattered  in  haste,  but  not  in  time 
to  escape  the  storm  borne  heavily  in  the  bosom  of  that  cloud, 
which  cpme  down  in  thick  sheets,  in  actual  strata  of  rain. 
Monday  was  also  un propitious ;  but  on  Tuesday  night  the  no- 
ble display  came  off,  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances. 
We  were  on  the  ground  at  an  early  hour,  and  watched,  almost 
from  the  beginning,  the  curious  process  of  lighting  up.  At 
first,  we  could  distinctly  see  the  workmen  swarming  over  the 
vast  edifice,  let  down  by  ropes  from  lofty  cornices,  swinging 
and  running  like  spiders  about  the  most  perilous  places.  But 
as  the  twilight  deepened  we  lost  sight  of  the  agents,  and  all 
seemed  to  go  on  by  magic.  The  lights,  which  were  tapers,  in 
small  paper  lanterns,  climbed  the  pillars,  stole  in  and  out  of  the 
sculptures  of  the  capitals,  arched  over  the  windows,  ran  along 
the  cornices,  scaled  the  dome,  mounted  to  the  summit,  and 
sprang  out  on  to  the  arms  of  the  cross.  At  last  it  seemed  to 
stand   complete  —  every  line,  and  angle,  and   curve  of   that 


298  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

wonder  of  architecture  seemed  to  live  out  in  light.  But  the 
sight,  though  beautiful,  was  not  grand  or  dazzliugly  brilliant. 
The  building  actually  looked  smaller  than  usual ;  the  innu- 
merable tapers  shone  softly,  and  twinkled  like  stars.  It  was 
as  though  the  church  had  been  rained  upon  by  a  meteoric 
shower,  or  as  though  the  milky  way  had  wound  itself  about  it 
from  summit  to  base. 

But  at  the  second  illumination,  instantaneously,  universally, 
the  vast  building  and  the  long  colonnades  leaped  from  that 
soft-shaded  lisht  into  living  flame.  It  seemed  that  the  sacred 
fire  had  descended  upon  the  cross,  which  first  blazed  forth,  or 
that  it  had  been  lit  by  lightning.  Great,  glorious  lights  burst 
out  of  the  darkness  in  a  thousand  unsuspected  places,  some 
pointing  steadily  towards  heaven,  some  streaming  like  red 
banners  on  tlie  winds  of  night.  They  swung  between  the 
pillars  of  the  colonnades,  they  throbbefl  among  distant  shadows, 
they  flashed  on  near  columns  and  cornices,  they  made  the 
dome  look  like  a  globe  on  fire !  There  was  something  so 
marvellously  beautiful,  so  almost  incredible,  in  the  sight,  that  I 
was  quite  overwhelmed  and  bewildered,  half  questioning  if  it 
was  not  some  splendid  illusion  of  the  senses,  some  gigantic 
fairy  phantom,  some  wondrous    unreality.     My  friend    Mrs. 

S has  since  told  me  of  a  remark  made  by  her  little  son, 

in  the  height  of  his  childish  excitement,  which  admirably  ex- 
pressed this  feeling :  "  How  beautiful !  how  beautiful !  O 
mamma,  I  don't  believe  it/" 

It  was  a  singular  thing,  that  the  farther  we  went  from  St. 
Peter's,  after  this,  the  larger  it  appeared,  till  it  seemed  to  have 
grown  into  a  great  mountain  of  light.  Seen  from  the  Pincio, 
H  was  grand  and  beautiful  beyond  all  imagination.  We 
remained  on  this  height  till  very  late,  and  left  reluctantly  at 
last,  thinking,  with  real  sadness,  that  those  glorious  lights 
would  burn  t»way  into  the  morning,  and  we  never  see  them 
DP  ore. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  299 

JiPRlL  4. 

The  fireworks  which  were  due  on  Easter  Monday,  but  were 
postponed  on  account  of  the  weather,  came  off  last  night  from 
the  Pincio.  From  the  windows  of  Mr.  Cass's  house,  which  com- 
mand an  admirable  view,  we  witnessed  this  most  magnificent 
display.  I  had  never  beheld,  I  had  not  even  conceived,  any 
thing  in  the  way  of  fireworks  half  so  grand.  Though  they 
only  lasted  about  an  hour,  there  was  a  wonderful  variety  in 
forms  and  colors.  It  opened  with  an  illuminated  cathedral, 
which  almost  rivalled  St.  Peter's.  Then  there  were  thousands 
of  rockets,  and  serpents,  and  wheels,  and  Roman  candles,  and 
fiery  fish  sent  swimming  through  the  air  ;  and  at  last  came  the 
Girandola,  a  mighty  irruption  of  rockets,  a  sort  of  mimic 
Vesuvius,  but  a  sight  of  surpassing  splendor.  Throughout 
these  displays  there  was  an  incessant  discharge  of  bombs  from 
the  Pincio,  where  they  are  fired  in  hollows  some  six  feet 
below  the  surface  of  the  ground.  Perhaps  for  this  reason  the 
reports  were  tremendously  heavy,  and  to  me  by  far  the  grand- 
est part  of  the  entertainment.  The  ghostly  statues  on  the  hill, 
and  the  immense  concourse  on  the  piazza,  were  every  now 
and  then  lit  up  by  the  many-colored  illuminations  with  an 
absolutely  awful  effect.  As  far  as  I  could  judge,  only  the 
foreigners  were  greatly  excited  by  the  scene ;  the  people 
seemed  to  take  it  very  coolly,  as  they  had  the  illumination  of 
St.  Peter's. 

After  all,  I  believe  that  it  is  but  sullenly  that  they  submit 
to  being  amused,  instead  of  being  liberated ;  and  with  this 
conviction  is  my  heart  most  cheered.  I  rejoice  in  their  sul- 
lenness,  in  their  sadness  even ;  and  if  I  could  see  in  them 
more  manly  pride  and  stern  determination,  I  would  hope  for 
them  against  the  world. 

April  8. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  5th  I  set  out  with  a  charming 
party  of  friends  for  Grotta  Ferrata,  to  attend  the  famous  fair, 


300  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

which  yearly  attracts  immense  crowds  of  country  people  and 
strangers,  and  is  one  of  the  things  which  must  be  seen.  Grotta 
Ferrata  is  a  small  village,  about  twelve  or  fourteen  miles  from 
Rome,  very  picturesque  in  its  position  and  surroundings.  It  con- 
tains an  old  castellated  monastery  of  St.  Basilio,  and  a  church, 
in  a  chapel  of  which  are  some  of  the  most  celebrated  frescoes  of 
Domenichino.  Among  those  which  are  very  powerful  and 
beautiful  compositions,  even  to  an  unartistic  eye,  there  is  in  a 
large  group,  the  meeting  of  the  Emperor  Otho  III.  and  St. 
Nilus,  a  true  portrait  of  Domenichino  himself,  one  of  Guido, 
one  of  Guercino,  and  a  lovely  little  figure,  which,  in  the 
character  of  a  page,  illustrated  a  very  romantic  page  in  the 
life  of  the  artist.  It  is  the  portrait  of  a  young  girl  of  Frascati 
whom  Domenichino  loved,  but  could  not  win,  because  of  the 
opposition  of  her  parents  ;  and  so  wedded  her  to  his  genius 
in  immortal  nuptials,  no  doubt  greatly  to  the  scandal  of  her 
respectable  family.  I  was  struck  by  observing  crowd  after 
crowd  of  the  humblest  order  of  peasants  pouring  into  this 
chapel,  and  gazing  in  unmistakable  interest  and  admiration 
upon  these  noble  frescoes.  These  people  are  born  artists 
and  appreciators  of  art. 

The  fair  was  principally  outside  the  walls ;  but  there  was 
a  great  crowd  every  where.  The  finest  view  of  the  whole 
field  of  operations  was  from  the  walls.  Here  you  looked 
over  the  little  square  of  the  town,  gay,  noisy,  and  tumultuous 
with  laughing  and  music,  eating  and  drinking,  buying  and 
selling ;  or  you  looked  down  a  long,  wide  avenue  of  elm  and 
plane  trees,  and  saw  it  absolutely  packed  with  a  slow,  moving 
mass  of  people  ;  or  you  looked  over  a  wide  plain  to  the  right, 
covered  with  booths,  with  busy  groups  of  buyers  and  sellers, 
with  idle  groups  of  lookers  on,  with  cattle,  and  pigs,  and 
horses,  with  veliicles  of  all  imaginable  varieties  and  degrees, 
from  the  prince's  superb  turnout,  with  footmen  and  postilions, 
to  the  donkey  cart  of  the  peasant. 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  301 

It  was  trulj  a  country  fair  of  the  most  primitive  and  nnpre- 
tending  character.  The  manufactures  were  of  the  rudest  sort ; 
the  little  music  we  heard  so  wild  and  simple  as  to  border  on 
the  savage  ;  the  horses  were  of  the  roughest  and  toughest 
breed ;  the  swine  stunted  and  scrubby  ;  the  agriculture  and 
household  implements  were  queer,  clumsy,  antediluvian  affairs  ; 
there  was  nothing  to  excile  my  admiration  in  going  all  the 
rounds  but  the  cattle,  especially  the  white  and  fawn-colored 
oxen  of  the  Campagna.  I  know  not  whether  they  are  a  fine 
breed  for  strength  and  endurance,  but  they  are  certainly  most 
magnificent  animals.  The  peasants  were  out  in  all  the  holiday 
smartness  of  tlie  various  costumes  of  the  several  districts  and 
towns.  It  takes  a  practised  eye  to  discover  much  difference 
between  some  of  them,  but  they  are  all  more  or  less  brilliant 
and  striking.  A  beautiful  hue  of  red  predominates  in  those 
of  the  women,  a  lively  blue  in  those  of  the  men.  But  these 
Italian  costumes  are  by  no  means  the  gay,  graceful,  flimsy 
things  they  are  represented  in  pictures  and  fancy  balls.  They 
are  of  substantial,  coarse  material,  rudely  cut,  and  roughly 
made ;  and  those  portions  which  by  complaisance  pass  for 
white  linen,  or  muslin,  are  usually  far  from  immaculate 
You  seldom  see  the  true  costumes  of  the  country  or  towns  iu 
rich  and  tasteful  material,  and  worn  with  an  air,  except  on 
professional  models,  the  bonnes  of  noble  families,  or  the  mas 
queraders  at  carnival.  ]^or  does  the  beauty  of  the  peasants 
at  all  come  up  to  one's  romantic  expectations,  or  justify  the 
immense  amount  of  poetizing  on  the  subject.  There  is 
enough  in  Rome,  which  is  the  great  artistic  market  for  the 
article ;  but  in  the  country,  you  may  often  travel  or  a  day 
without  meeting  a  really  handsome  man  or  woman.  Beautiful 
children  you  find  every  where  ;  but  exposure,  ignorance,  poor 
food,  and  scant  clothing  hardens,  stupefies,  and  prematurely 
ages  them. 

I  set  forth  on  a  regular  exploring  expedition  with  a  poetic 
26 


302  HArS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

young  gentleman  through  the  grounds  of  this  great  fair,  to  find 
a  beautiful  contadina ;  but  after  being  dashed  hither  and 
thither  by  the  surging  crowd,  in  the  gateway,  and  completely 
saturated  by  the  all-pervading  odors  of  garlic  and  cabbage  in 
the  dinner-serving  booths,  —  after  being  nearly  upset  by  an 
unexpected  charge  of  small  pigs,  on  the  plain,  and  running  a 
perfect  gantlet  of  kicking  mules,  —  we  were  obliged  to  abandon 
the  virtuous  enterprise  in  despair.  At  one  moment  I  believed 
I  had  discovered  the  lovely  ideal,  the  "  inexpressive  she,"  in 
a  gay  Albanese,  the  centre  of  a  jolly  group  of  peasants,  v^ho 
sat,  or  rather  lounged,  on  the  grass,  in  genuine  gypsy  style. 
Just  as  I  pointed  her  out  to  my  friend,  she  was  lifting  by  main 
strength  a  small  wine  cask,  and  drinking  from  it  in  regular 
hearty  pulls  —  an  act  slightly  dashed  with  vulgarity,  but  per- 
formed with  a  singular  daring  grace,  that  quite  captivated  me. 
But,  alas !  as  we  drew  nearer  to  the  fair  Bacchante,  we  found 
that  she  squinted,  in  the  drollest  possible  way.  In  other  things 
than  pretty  peasant  girls  we  found  this  exhibition,  agreeable 
and  curious  as  it  was,  lacking  the  fine  salient  properties  which 
make  up  the  popular  idea  of  a  country  fair:  there  was  neither 
fiorhtino;  nor  drunkenness  :  and  those  who  counted  on  the  little 
diversion  of  such  sights  probably  voted  the  entire  affair  a 
humbug.  There  was  only  a  pleasant,  pervading  animation,  of 
bargaining  and  lovemaking,  only  the  most  peaceable  and 
^  harmless,  the  mildest  and  milkiest,  form  of  tipsiness.  By  far 
the  greatest  excitement  appeared  to  prevail  among  the  don- 
keys, who  seemed  to  consider  that  all  this  parade,  bustle,  and 
crowd  were  solely  on  their  account,  and  brayed  accordingly. 
The  effect  of  this  grand  asinine  concert  was  at  times  tre- 
mendous. 

"We  actually  found  our  long-sought  beauty  on  our  drive  from 
Grotta  Ferrata  to  Frascati.  We  overtook  her,  "  riding  on  an 
^ss,"  rather  suspiciously,  not  alone,  but  sittirg  in  front  of  a 
handsome  young  man,  and  —  it  must  be  told  —  astride.     Yet 


A   TOUR   IN   EUROPE.  303 

she  was  a  smiling,  mischievous,  darling  little  damsel,  as  inno- 
cent of  all  great  sins  as  she  was  ignorant  of  small  proprieties, 
very  likely.  How  her  brown  eyes  were  dancing,  her  red  lips 
wreathing,  and  her  white  teeth  flashing  in  the  joyous  spring 
sunlight !  She  was  an  imbodiment  of  merriment  and  careless 
good  humor,  as  she  rode  thus  astride,  with  her  lover's  arms 
about  her  dainty  waist ;  while  he  looked  happy  and  proud, 
bearing  away  the  fairest  of  the  fair,  in  his  holiday  suit,  pressing 
his  suit  with  his  love.  To  both,  the  ride  may  have  been  an 
event  as  momentous  as  to  us  it  was  ludicrous  :  that  for  the 
time  they  were  enjoying  it,  with  a  simple,  primitive  zest, 
there  was  eloquent  evidence  in  arch,  smiling  eyes  and  man- 
tling cheeks.  The  animal  they  bestrode,  which  was  but  a  small 
donkey  to  bear  so  great  a  weight  of  human  felicity,  may  have 
had  his  own  private  opinion  on  the  subject. 

Frascati  is  most  picturesquely  situated  on  one  of  the  lower 
Alban  hills,  about  three  miles  below  the  site  of  ancient  Tuscu- 
lum.  It  is  a  favorite  summer  retreat  of  the  Romans,  as  the 
air  is  pure,  and  the  views  it  commands  over  the  Campagna  to 
Rome,  the  Sabine  hills,  off  to  the  sea  shore,  and  even  on  to  the 
Mediterranean,  are  absolutely  enchanting.  Within  and  about 
the  town  there  are  several  princely  villas,  the  grounds  and 
terraces  of  which  are  extremely  beautiful. 

The  cathedral  here,  though  nothing  very  grand  in  itself,  is 
an  object  of  interest,  as  containing  the  tomb  of  a  piince  for 
whom  more  was  dared,  more  endured  and  lost,  more  noble 
blood  was  shed,  more  happy  homes  were  desolated,  more 
heroic  hearts  broken,  than  history,  or  romance,  or  poetry  can 
tell— "Charles  Edward,  the  young  Pretender.  He  died  her£ 
in  1788,  a  strange,  humble,  and  melancholy  closing  to  a  life  of 
such  struggles  and  adventures,  such  grand  hopes  and  impe- 
rial pretensions.  It  seems  but  a  terrible  satire  on  kingly  pomp 
and  pride,  and  on  loyal  heroism  and  romance,  to  see  in  that 
dusky  old  foreign  church  those  rampant  royal  arms,  and  to 


304  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

read  on  the  tablet  beneath  the  haughty  claims  of  the  dead 
princo  to  the  kingship  of  England,  Scotland,  France,  and 
Ireland. 

For  an  excursion  to  the  ruins  of  Tusculum,  we  took  don- 
keys at  Frascati ;  and  sad  creatures  they  were,  for  crowds  of 
people  having  come  from  the  fair  before  us,  and  started  on 
the  ascent,  we  were  limited  to  the  melancholy  choice  of  poor 
Hobson.  Some  of  these  animals  were  lame,  one  nearly  blind, 
and  all  had  large  and  long-established  "  raws,''  not  over-pleas- 
ant to  contemplate.  Our  party  was  accompanied  by  a  guide, 
or  driver  —  a  huge,  diabolical  fellow,  with  a  swelled  nose  and 
a  black  eye,  the  only  positive  evidence  I  have  ever  seen  of  an 
Italian  quarrel  having  come  to  blows.  He  ran  along  behind 
as,  with  a  large,  sharp  stick,  with  wliich  he  dug  into  the  sides 
of  the  donkeys,  whenever  they  lagged  or  sturiibled  in  the 
*  ascent,  and  often,  indeed,  without  the  slightest  provocation  of 
any  kind ;  keeping  up  a  perpetual  succession  of  wild,  discord- 
ant yells,  interspersed  with  an  occasional  "  Cospetto  T^  and 
"^Accedejiie  !  "  This  last  curse  is  something  quite  awful  when 
addressed  to  a  human  being,  but  loses  somewhat  of  its  terrible 
force,  perhaps,  when  applied  to  a  donkey.  It  means,  "  May 
you  he  struck  down  by  a  stroke  of  apoplexy  !  " 

I  had  been  obliged  to  content  myself  with  a  man's  saddle, 
on  which  I  could  only  keep  my  seat  by  skilful  balancing.  I 
rode  with  an  appearance  of  ease  bordering  on  recklessness, 
yet  with  inward  quaking>j  whenever  the  diabolical  driver  sud- 
denly darted  towards  my  donkey  with  his  sharp  admonislier. 
There  was  an  elderly  lady,  of  a  party  just  ahead  of  us,  who 
«^emed  to  be  making  her  first  essay  on  tlie  animal  with  tlir 
ears,  or  indeed  on  any  animal  at  ail ;  for  she  w^as  evidently  in 
mortal  fear  of  being  dismounted  in  some  way,  or  overrun  or 
charged  on  —  so  she  held  fast  to  the  pommel,  and  defended 
herself  and  her  donkey  at  the  point  of  the  parasol.  About  half 
way  up  I  heard  a  short,  little   scream,  followed   by  a  merry 


A    TOUR    1JN(    EUROFE.  305 


laugh,  and,  looking  round,  saw  my  pretty  cousin,  Mrs.  W- 


roUing  on  the  ground.  She  had  been  thrown  quite  over  the 
head  of  her  donkey,  who  had  stumbled  and  fallen.  Ah,  then 
wasn't  the  diabolical  driver  after  liim  with  his  sharpened 
stick  ?  and  didn't  the  elderly  lady  hold  on  tighter  to  the  pom- 
mel, and  flourish  her  parasol  more  menacingly  than  ever? 
The  roads,  or  rather  the  lanes,  which  led  us  to  TusculunVj 
ttiougn  rough  and  steep,  are  exceedingly  beautiful.  We  pasaed 
through  little  avenues  of  laurel,  and  cypress,  and  olive  trees, 
festooned  with  luxuriant  ivy  vines :  on  every  side  were  hosts 
of  anemonies  of  all  colors,  wild  hyaciaiths  and  periwinkles, 
crimson-tipped  daisies,  and  millions  of  violets,  loading  the  air 
with  delicious  fragrance  ;  while  at  every  moment  glanced  in 
and  out  of  the  foilage  the  quick,  lithe  lizard  —  most  beautiful 
of  reptiles,  bright  green,  flecked  with  gold,  as  though  born  of 
the  grass  and  the  sunshine.  Above  us,  circling  and  soaring  in 
the  soft  blue  sky,  were  larks,  sending  down  upon  us  from  mid- 
heaven  their  marvellous  trills  and  jubilant  carols  in  a  perfect 
rain  of  melody — while,  from  the  trees  along  our  way,  the 
blackbirds  sent  forth  generous  gushes  of  song,  and  merry  rills 
of  music  rippling  through  the  air. 

The  ruins  of  Tusculum  are  inconsiderable,  but  all  the  more 
deeply  interesting.  There  are  pavements  like  those  of  the  Via 
Sacra  and  Via  Appia,  several  gateways,  baths,  and  reser- 
voirs, a  fountain,  some  few  remains  of  Cicero's  villa,  an 
amphitheatre,  and  a  theatre.  The  views  from  the  highest  ridge 
of  the  hill  behind  the  theatre  are  beautiful  beyond  description 
or  conception.  That  wonderful  Campagna  unrolled  before  us 
like  a  vast  sea — most  lovely  in  its  loneliness  and  desolatiorit 
For  all  it  is  so  generally  level,  and  so  devoid  of  foliage,  it 
neither  looks  monotonously  flat  nor  bare.  It  is  wondrously 
beautiful,  and  varied  by  all  the  shades  of  green,  brown,  and 
purple,  and  by  the  shadows  flung  upon  it  by  the  clcuds  above 
Then  we  had  ail  the  Alban  hills  in  near  view,  with  AJbano, 
26* 


30G  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS    OF 

Tivoli,  Grotta  Fermta,  Frascati,  and,  in  the  blue  distance,  the 
spectral  ruins  about  Rome,  and  Rome  itself  I  thought,  as  I 
reclined  on  the  soft  turf  of  that  breezy  height,  .low  often 
Cicero  and  Cato  must  have  feasted  their  souls  on  the  surpass- 
ing beauty  of  this  view. 

In  driving  home,  we  saw  the  sun  set  over  Rome  —  a  sight 
ever  glorious,  ever  new.  Perhaps  these  daily  miracles  of 
gorgeous  coloring  are  less  brilliant  here  than  we  sometimes 
see  them  in  America ;  but  the  brightness  is  more  deep  and 
tender  ;  it  does  not  strike  off  your  eyes,  but  it  seems  that  your 
gaze  sinks  and  searches  into  the  very  innermost  heart  of  the 
glory. 

When  we  passed  the  Coliseum,  the  solemn  twilight  shadows 
were  deepening  fast  about  it,  and  the  rising  winds  of  night 
were  tossing  the  tufts  of  wallflowers  which  grow  far  up 
among  the  ancient  arches. 

A  few  days  ago  we  visited  the  Spada  palace,  and  saw  there 
that  statue  of  Pompey  "at  whose  base  great  Csesar  fell." 
There  is  something  truly  awful  in  the  sternness  of  the  figure, 
colossal  in  its  proportions,  darkened  by  age,  and  marred  by  the 
ruin  which  once  rained  around  it,  overthrew  and  buried  it. 
A  most  fit  witness  it  looks  for  a  deed  so  stern  and  dark.  The 
heavy  frown  on  the  brows  you  fancy  dates  only  from  that 
murderous  moment ;  and  a  faint  red  stain  on  the  left  knee, 
probably  from  some  metal  in  the  marble,  but  traditionally 
Caesar's  blood,  adds  a  vague  horribleness  to  the  figure.  Look- 
ing at  it  long,  you  are  brought  completely  under  the  spell  of 
its  dread  memories.  You  see  Caesar  standing  beneath  it,  his 
proud  eyes  a-light,  and  his  bold  brow  radiant  with  the  full- 
orbed  splendor  of  his  greatness  and  power.  You  see  the  con- 
spirators draw  near,  scowl,  glare  upon  him,  strike  —  Brutus, 
Cassius,  Casca  —  all.  You  see  the  daggers  gleam  as  they 
descend,  and  reek  as  they  are  withdrawn.  You  see  the 
upward  i?purt  of  the  blood  which  stahied  that  statue ;  you  see 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  307 

the  fall,  hear  the  reproachful  "'  Et  tu,  Brute,'^  and  the  low 
death  groan  of  Caesar. 

From  the  Palazzo  Spada  we  went  to  the  Palazzo  Cancel- 
leria,  where  Rossi  was  stabbed,  and  where  we  saw  the  real 
undoubted  bloodstains  on  the  stairs.  We  afterwards  saw  in 
a  neighboring  church  his  tomb,  surmounted  by  a  bust  —  a 
head  indicating  a  good  deal  of  power,  but  a  cold  and  rather  a 
hard  face.  The  custode  told  us  that  many  people  came  daily 
to  view  the  scene  of  the  assassination,  and  it  is  evident  that 
the  Roman  conservatives  are  doing  all  in  their  power  to  make 
a  hero  and  a  martyr  out  of  the  unfortunate  count.  His 
treacherous  taking  off  was  of  course  an  execrable  deed,  but 
it  is  as  yet  wrapped  in  mystery ;  and  surely  that  was  a  noble 
revolution  the  history  of  whose  brief,  heroic  struggle  was 
stained  by  but  one  such  crime. 

On  the  14th  we  leave  for  Naples.  The  spring  has  opened 
gloriously,  and  I  have  rare  prospects  of  enjoyment  before  me  ; 
but  I  must  confess  that  my  heart  really  aches  at  the  thought 
of  leaving  dear,  dismal,  delightful,  diity  old  Rome.  1  have 
been  happier  here  than  I  could  ever  have  believed  it  possible 
for  me  to  be  so  far  from  country,  home,  all  that  my  soul  holds 
most  sacred  and  dear.  I  have  been  wondrously  cor-soled  by 
its  beauty  and  art,  by  its  soft  air  even,  in  all  my  Lneliued* 
and  sadness  of  heart. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

IjASt  Days  in  Rome.  —  Set  out  for  Naples.  —  The  Pontine  Maush- 
E8.  —  Teeracina  —  MoLA  Di  Gaeta.  —  St.  Agata.  —  Capua.  —  Ve- 
suvius. —  Neapolitan  Beggars.  —  Naples.  —  A  Row  on  the  Bat. 

—  The  Museum.  —  Herculaneum.  —  Pompeii.  —  Salerno.  —  Pces- 
TUM.  —  Amalfi.  —  La   Luna.  —  The   •*  Tarantella." —  Sorrento. 

—  Unfortunate  Trip  to  Capri.  —  Return  to  Naples. 

J\rAPLES,   ^PRIL    19. 

I  DEVOTED  my  last  morning  in  Rome  to  making  a  round  of 
farewell  visits  to  several  places  and  objects  of  especial  interest 
and  veneration  to  me  —  the  Baths  of  Caracalla,  the  palace  of 
the  Caesars,  the  Coliseum.  I  was  accompanied  by  my  friends 
Miss  S ,  Mrs.  N ,  and  Mrs.  P ,  all  full  of  enjoy- 
ment and  responsive  sympathy  ;  thrilling  to  the  beauty  of  the 
morning,  feeling  the  poetry  and  grandeur  of  those  majestic 
ruins,  without  raving  or  sentimentalizing  about  them.  On 
our  way  to  the  baths,  we  stopped  at  the  beautiful  Fountain  oft 
Treva ;  I  to  drank  of  its  waters  in  observance  of  a  popular 
superstition,  that  I  might  surely  come  back  to  Rome  some 
day  ;  they  to  drink  to  my  speedy  return.  I  seemed  to  catch 
strange  hope  and  courage  from  the  sparkling,  laughing  tide  that 
flowed  down  to  me  ;  the  drops  I  held  in  my  palm  seemed  to 
smile  and  dance  with  a  joyous  promise  ;  and  since  they  passed 
my  lips,  I  have  religiously  believed  that  I  shall  return  to 
Rome.  We  found  that  mightiest,  loneliest  waste  of  ruin,  the 
Baths  of  Caracalla,  looking  more  beautiful  than  desolate  in 
its  spring  apparelling  of  freshened  ivies,  and  budding  shrubs, 
and  flowers  innumerable.  Our  feet  were  buried  in  anemonies, 
dailies,  and  sweet  violets  ;  wiiile  from  the  towering  walls,  and 

(308) 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  309 

arches,  and  fragments  of  roof  above,  hosts  orf  splendid  wall- 
flowers actually  rained  down  fragrance  upon  us.  We  ascended 
the  stairs  to  the  top  of  the  walls,  and  the  portions  of  the  roof 
yet  secure,  and  wandered  about  over  those  lovely  places  where 
Shelley  strayed  or  lounged  while  writing  his  Prometheus 
Unbound.  We  found  the  views  over  the  city  and  Cam- 
pagna,  an  1  off  to  the  Sabine  and  Alban  hills,  and  to  the  sea, 
grand  in  extent,  and  charming  in  infinite  variety  ;  we  revelled 
in  them  and  in  the  invigorating  freshness  and  spring  sweet- 
ness of  the  air.  We  climbed  about  the  ruined  walls  and 
crumbling  arches  like  kids,  and  vied  with  each  other  in  the 
foolhardihood  with  which  we  perilled  our  necks  in  gathering 
the  wallflowers,  which  smiled  and  nodded  to  us  defiantly 
from  apparently  inaccessible  places. 

At  length,  quite  wearied  out,  we  sat  down  under  an  old 

arch,  to  take  a   little  lunch  of  bread  and  figs.     Miss  S 

did  the  honors,  and  with  a  graceful  drollery,  peculiar  to  her- 
self, assumed  the  character  of  a  Roman  dame  "  all  of  the 
olden  time."  "  I  fear  you  may  find  our  rooms  somewhat  too 
airy,"  she  said.  "We  always  throw  open  this  upper  suite  of 
apartments  in  the  summer ;  but  don't  sit  in  the  draught,  I 
,  pray.  Do  you  go  to  the  Coliseum  to-night  ?  There  is  to  be 
an  extraordinary  entertainment,  the  Emperor  tells  me.  Two 
handsome  young  barbarian  gladiators  from  the  Danube  coun- 
try are  to  contend  together ;  the  Emperor  has  a  bet  on  one,  I 
on  the  other  ;  and  an  old  man,  of  that  vile  sect  called  Christian, 
is  to  combat  singly  a  lion  of  Africa,  for  preaching  against  these 
same  noble  games,  the  Eleusinian  Mysteries,  and  other  of  our 
sacred  and  venerable  institutions,  thus  blaspheming  against 
the  gods.  By  the  way,  dear  ladies,  I  have  not  seen  you  of 
late  sacrificing  at  the  Temple  of  Venus,  nor  did  I  meet  you  at 
the  last  Matronalia,  or  Vestalia.  I  fear  you  are  falling  off  ia 
your  religious  duties." 

In  leaving,  we  had  some  little  trouble  with  the  old  custode. 


310  HAPS    AND    MiSHAPS    OT* 

who,  seeing  that  we  were  three  unprotected  females,  attempted 
to  extort  from  us  a  double  fee.  Finding  that  we  were  among 
the  unterrified  and  not-to-be-bullied  class  of  feminine  tourists, 
he  put  on  the  injured  air,  and  reproached  us  with  having 
enjoyed  the  beauties  of  his  palace,  and  borne  off  its  decorative 
wallflowers,  without  giving  sufficient  return.  "  I  can't  say 
much  for  your  hospitality,  though  you  do  keep  open  house, 

my  friend,"  said  I ;  while  Miss  S exclaimed,  "^  il  vostro 

jpalazzo.  0,  siete  il  Signor  Caracalla,"  ("  It  is  your  palace. 
O,  you  are  then  Mr.  Caracalla; ")  and  we  drove  away,  all  laugh- 
ing, and  saying,  "  Buon  giorno,  Signor  Caracalla!"  while  the 
enraged  cusiode  was  shaking  his  fist  at  us,  and  sending  after 
us  a  volley  of  cospettos  and  accidentes. 

The  Palatine  Hill  is  now  mostly  covered  by  a  vineyard  and 
an  immense  vegetable  garden ;  but  thei-e  are  yet  noble  ruins 
enough  above  ground  to  give  one  great  conceptions  of  the 
vastness  and  splendor  of  the  palace  of  the  Caesars.  There 
are  some  portions  yet  very  picturesque  ;  'some  few  chambers, 
towers,  and  baths,  partially  preserved,  by  which  one  can  make 
out,  with  much  help  from  the  imagination,  an  idea  of  the 
wondrous  beauty,  and  of  the  large  and  lofty  proportions,  of 
these  imperial  buildings ;  but  the  most  that  the  eye  falls  upon 
is  a  black,  meaningless,  undistinguishable  mass  of  crumbling 
masonry.  On  the  very  site  of  the  house  of  Augustus  stands 
a  gaudy,  cockneyish  edifice,  belonging  to  one  Mr.  Mills,  an 
Englishman,  and  called  the  Villa  Mills ! 

My  last  stroll  about  the  arena  and  under  the  solemn  arches 
of  the  Coliseum  was  more  melancholy  than  I  had  thought  it 
would  be.  Of  all  places  in  Rome,  of  all  the  places  I  have 
yet  seen  on  earth,  this  is  infinitely  the  most  interesting,  im- 
pressive, enchanting,  the  grandest  and  dearest.  I  believe  I 
cojld  visit  it  every  day  in  the  year  with  the  same  wonder  and 
delight,  with  the  same  profound  emotions,  with  the  same 
quickening  of  poetic  thought,  the  same  illusions  and  memories, 


■  A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  811 

with  the  same  thronging  through  the  soul  of  visions  of  beauty, 
and  splendor,  and  terror,  and  triumph,  and  destruction.  As 
my  eye  circled  for  the  last  time  about  the  mighty  sweep  of  its 
broken  walls,  the  wild  shrubs  and  the  wallflowers  seemed 
waving  me  a  mournful  farewell ;  and  I  answered  the  mute 
adieu  with  an  irrepressible  gush  of  tears. 

I  saw  it  once  a»ain  from  without  —  as  I  was  leavinj;  Rome, 
early  on  the  morning  of  the  16th.  We  had  passed  the  Forum 
of  Trajan,  the  Temples  of  Minerva,  Antoninus,  and  Faustina, 
through  a  portion  of  the  Roman  Forum,  going  under  the  Arch 
of  Titus,  and  came  upon  the  Coliseum  at  last  —  the  Coliseum, 
filled  to  overflowing  with  floods  of  morning  light  —  glorified, 
transfigured  before  us,  with  the  golden  and  purple  splendors 
of  Italian  sun  and  sky.  The  wild  flowers  were  dancing  joy- 
ously on  the  walls,  the  wild  birds  singing  jubilantly  among 
the  old  arches ;  and  so  it  passed  from  our  sight,  not  seeming 
to  be  hid  from  us  by  distance,  and  black,  obstructing  masses, 
but  to  have  faded  in  brightness  away  like  some  gigantic  vision 
of  the  night  suddenly  dissolving  into  day. 

We  passed  out  the  Porta  San  Giovanni  on  to  the  new 
Appian  Way,  and  from  the  heights  of  Albano  took  our  last,  sad 
lingering  look  at  that  old  solemn,  immortal  city,  at  the  ruins 
which  surround  it,  and  over  the  vast  and  lonely  wastes  oi  the 
Campagna.  We  travelled  by  vettura,  a  nice,  comfortable  car- 
riage, with  three  fine  horses,  very  shiny  with  sleek  coats  and 
brass  trappings,  and  very  musical  with  numerous  bells.  We 
spent  the  first  night  at  a  miserable  little  hotel,  in  the  village 
of  Listerna,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  second  day  crossed  the 
Pontine  marshes  to  Terracina,  where  we  spent  the  afternoon 
and  night.  The  Pontine  marshes  are  a  wide,  weary,  dismal 
waste,  the  very  air  of  which  seemed  surcharged  with  pesti- 
lence and  death,  even  on  that  cool  and  breezy  morning.  The 
few  peasants  we  met  looked  miserably  pale  and  cadaverous 
with  starvation  and  disease  ;  and  no  other  living  things  did  y/i 


312  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

see  except  buffaloes  and  wild  birds.  Among  the  latter  were 
several  eagles  from  the  mountains,  savage,  sinister-looking 
creatures,  evidently  meditating  murder  on  the  water  fowl  who 
screamed  and  fluttered  beneath  them.  Terracina  is  a  wild, 
picturesque  place,  with  great  craggy  rocks  piled  behind  it, 
and  the  blue,  bright  sea  before  it.  It  has  been  the  scene 
of  countless  robber  romances.  I  suddenly  awoke  in  the  night 
with  the  recollection  that  often  in  my  childhood  my  blood  had 
run  cold,  and  my  eyes  stood  out  of  my  head,  at  fearful  stories 
of  robberies  and  murders  committed  at  the  very  inn  in  which 
I  lodged.  But  though  I  listened,  I  must  confess,  with  hushed 
breath,  I  heard  no  sound  more  alarming  than  the  murmur  of 
the  sea ;  and  I  was  only  molested  by  those  small  banditti,  who 
bleed  you  infinitesimally,  but  who  are  not  to  be  bought  off, 
even  by  the  total  surrender  of  your  purse. 

The  first  Neapolitan  town  we  entered  was  Fondi,  a  forlorn 
and  wretched  place,  black  with  filth,  noisome  with  squalor, 
and  swarming  with  beggars.  We  rested  and  lunched  at 
Mola  di  Gaeta,  a  really  beautiful  place,  where  we  spent  an 
hour  or  two  most  pleasantly  in  a  charming  garden  of  orange 
and  lemon  trees,  near  the  sea.  Gaeta,  where  the  Pope  took 
refuge,  looks  quite  impregnable,  both  from  sea  and  shore. 
Near  the  inn  are  the  ruins  of  Cicero's  Villa,  and  a  mile  or  two 
off,  on  the  way  towards  Rome,  is  the  spot  where  he  was  assas- 
sinated. It  is  marked  by  a  stone  tower.  We  set  out  before 
our  carriage,  and  walked  through  the  long  town  and  about  a 
mile  beyond.  In  this  stroll  we  were  infinitely  amused  and 
interested  by  the  people,  in  whom  we  saw  a  wonderful  contrast 
to  those  of  Rome.  AVe  found  them  dirtier  and  idler,  but  fuM 
of  careless  gayety,  laughter,  and  song.  Even  the  priests 
looked  good  natured,  jolly,  and  frank;  in  not  one  did  I  remark 
the  mortal  seriousness,  the  sombre  stupidity,  or  the  profound 
Jesuitical  darkness  of  the  Roman  priesthood.  Many  of  the 
women,  of  the  young  girls  especially,  were  decidedly  beautiful, 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  313 

and  some  of  the  children  bewitching  little  creatures ;  but  the 
men  seemed  to  me  less  handsome  than  those  of"  Rome.  Of 
course,  we  fell  among  beggars  of  the  most  noi.?y  and  pertina- 
cious kind,  principally  young  boys,  who  brought  us  weeds 
and  pebbles,  and  oyster  shells  and  dead  crabs,  and  such 
like  agreeable  remembrancers  and  curiosities,  and  performed 
strange  antics  before  us,  throwing  somersets  at  the  imminent 
peril  of  shedding  their  last  fluttering  fragments  of  drapery. 
We  found  ourselves  at  last  followed  and  preceded  by  such  a 
formidable  crowd  that  we  were  heartily  thankful  when  our 
vetturino  came  to  the  rescue. 

We  spent  our  last  night  on  the  road  at  St.  Agata,  at  a  "^ery 
poor  inn,  but  quite  pleasantly,  as  we  met  there  a  party  of 
acquaintances,  and  had  a  merry  time  together.  During 
the  evening  we  had  a  good  deal  of  amusement,  comparing 
notes  of  our  experiences  of  furnished  apartments  in  Rome. 
We  had  all  been  expressly  prohibited  from  dancing,  for  fear 
that  the  floors  should  give  way  beneath  and  the  walls  topple 
down  upon  us.  We  had  all  found  the  furniture,  though  of 
the  most  ponderous  and  imposing  style,  of  so  unstable  and 
brittle  a  nature  that  it  broke,  crashed,  splintered,  and  gave 
way  in  all  directions  with  the  slightest  possible  provocation. 
Marble  mantel  pieces  had  fallen  under  elbows,  chair  rounds 
snapped  under  the  lightest  pressure  of  the  foot,  while  legs  of 
tables  and  pianos  and  arms  of  sofas  had  been  particularly  sub- 
ject to  fractures  and  dislocations.  For  all  these  unforeseeable 
and  inevitable  accidents  we  had  been  made  to  pay  at  a  tre- 
njendous  rate  ;  the  frailer  the  furniture,  the  heavier  the  charges  ; 
and  knowing  this,  we  had  ever  been  about  as  comfortable  as 
though  living  in  glass  houses,  furnished  with   nothing  more 

substantial  than  porcelain  and  alabaster.     Mr.  H declared 

that,  on  coming  away,  he  was  afraid  to  shake  hands  with  the 
padrone,  lest  his  arm  should  drop  off. 

At  Capua  we  stopped  a  fev  hours,  but  saw  nothing  of  much 
27 


314  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

interest.  The  road  between  that  town  and  Naples  is  through 
a  fine  country,  cultivated  like  a  garden.  As  far  as  I  have 
seen,  the  Neapolitan  dominions  are  in  striking  contrast  with 
the  Papal,  in  the  extent  and  beauty  of  the  cultivation.  Every 
rod  of  ground  is  made  use  of — vineyards,  olive  and  orange 
groves,  wheat,  and  flax,  and  clover  fields  smile  before  you 
every  where.  But  the  people,  though  strangely  cheerful  and 
healthful,  are  shockingly  poor  and  degraded.  They  are  all 
beggars,  all  ragged  and  dirty  —  at  least  those  you  see  along 
the  highway.  The  women  work  in  the  fields  with  the  men, 
apparently  keeping  up  with  them  in  the  severest  labor.  A 
short  time  after  leaving  Capua,  we  caught  our  first  sight  of 
Vesuvius,  and  had  him  in  view  during  the  remainder  of  the 
journey.  At  first,  he  looked  like  any  other  mountain,  for  the 
smoke  on  his  summit  was  like  an  ordinary  cloud  resting  there 
—  but  after  a  while  I  could  see  that  it  liad  not  floated  or 
descended  there,  but  was  rising  slowly  and  perpetually  from 
the  mountain  itself ;  and  the  thought  that  it  rose  thus  forever, 
save  when  it  gave  way  to  jets  of  flame,  and  floods  of  lava,  and 
black  showers  of  ashes,  came  over  me  with  terrible  force. 

As  we  approached  the  city,  we  met  hosts  of  gay  Neapoli- 
tans, sunning  and  dusting  themselves  in  a  galloping,  rattling, 
ringing  drive  —  the  merriest,  maddest  people,  in  the  oddest, 
craziest  vehicles  imaginable,  crowded  literally  to  overflowing ; 
for  there  were  often  one  or  two  behind,  on  a  swing  seat,  with 
their  feet  in  a  network  bag.  But  I  must  not  forget  the  beg- 
gars, for  they  never  forget  us.  No  sooner  had  we  stopped  at 
the  Custom  House  than  the  PhiHstines  were  upon  us  !  1 
tJiought,  at  first,  that  we  were  beset  by  a  company  of  castinet 
players  ;  but  presently  perceived  that  the  peculiar  sound  1 
heard  was  an  energetic  rapping  on  the  chin,  causing  the  teeth 
to  chatter  in  tune  —  in  Neapolitan  pantomime,  expressing  a 
most  desperate  state  of  starvation.  The  group  about  us  pre- 
gented  a  variety  truly  wonderful.     There  was  an  old  man, 


A   TOUR   m   EUROPE.  815 

tame,  blind,  and  perhaps  paralytic,  for  the  occasion.  There 
was  a  hideous  old  hag,  who  shrieked  out,  '•'•Fame!"  (hunger,) 
as  though  it  were  a  malediction,  and  seemed  to  be  invoking  all 
the  Furies  for  our  destruction,  while  piously  offering  us  a  life 
interest  in  her  prayers.  There  was  a  brown  and  hairy 
bandit  of  a  fellow,  who  played  on  a  queer  sort  of  an  instru- 
ment, like  a  small  churn,  which  he  held  horizontally,  and  drew 
forth  the  music  with  the  dasher,  jumping  a  kind  of  Neapolitan 
Jim  Crow  at  the  same  time  —  the  crowning  of  the  perform- 
ance being  the  flinging  off  of  his  three-cornered  felt  hat,  and 
the  tossing  of  it  upon  his  head  with  his  foot.  There  was  a 
boy,  who  was  most  unconscionably  fat  and  rosy  for  a  beggar, 
yet,  for  all  that,  threw  astounding  somersets,  and  was  a  perfect 
master  of  the  dental  castinets ;  a  young  girl,  with  twisted  legs 
and  no  palate,  who  danced  and  sung,  the  better  to  display  those 
little  personal  peculiarities  ;  and  a  baby  in  arms,  who  ex- 
tended its  little  palm,  and  rapped  its  little  chin,  in  a  most 
piteous  and  precocious  manner ;  a  handsome  young  mother, 
who  sported  a  dashing  costume,  and  wore  gold  earrings,  and 
carried  her  first  little  black-eyed  hamhino  in  a  basket  on  her 
head,  as  though  it  were  potatoes  ;  and  so  on  ad  injinitum. 

At  last  we  were  really  in  Naples,  and  found  it  all  we  had 
expected,  and  more  —  a  bright,  busy,  bustling,  cheerful  place. 
The  streets  are  wider  and  cleaner,  the  houses  lighter  and 
fresher,  than  those  of  Rome :  life  and  death  are  not  more  op- 
posite than  this  sunny,  stirring,  smiling  city,  and  that  morne 
and  melancholy  place,  over  which  broods  forever  the  solemn 
shadow  of  a  dead  greatness.  Our  hotel  is  delightfully  situ- 
ated on  the  Chiaja,  separated  alone  by  the  beautiful  Royal 
Garden  from  the  bay  —  the  glorious  bay.  To-night,  the  rich 
moonlight  is  making  sea  and  shore  more  lovely  than  imagi- 
nation can  picture.  I  have  leaned  from  my  balcony,  and  gazed 
and  gazed  till  my  very  soul  was  pained  with  a  sense  of  beauty 
infioitely  outreaching   my  power    of  expression.      I   almost 


816  HAPS    AND    MlSIlArS    OF 

wept  to  think  that  I  must  die,  and  leave  it  all  untold.  At  last 
I  came  in,  reluctantly,  closed  my  blinds  to  shut  out  the  entran- 
cing view,  and  sat  down  dutifully  to  my  work. 

April  21. 
Yesterday,   in    the  afternoon,   we    had    a   charming    little 
excursion  on  the  bay  in  a  sailboat.     The  day  was    delicious 

—  there  was  just  wind  enough  to  fill  our  sails,  and  waft 
us,  not  drive  us  on,  over  the  small  and  sparkling  waves. 
The  sky  was  intensely  blue,  but  hung  with  varied  and  shifting 
clouds,  wliose  shadows  lay  on  the  water  in  shades  and  hues 
more  marvellously  beautiful  than  can  be  conceived.  The 
town  showed  grandly  from  the  bay,  with  its  handsome  palaces, 
bright-colored  houses  and  shops  —  pleasant  green  terraces 
and  flowering  gardens.  Then  the  beach  and  the  landings  were 
alive  with  fishermen  and  fish  venders  —  sailors  and  lazzaroni ; 
while  fishing  boats  and  pleasure  boats,  with  graceful  brigs  and 
stately  ships,  were  rocking  in  the  light  wind  blowing  off  the 
shore.  Then  there  were  Capri,  and  Portici,  and  the  Castle 
of  St.  Elmo,  and,  above   all,  Vesuvius,  to  make  up  the  scene 

—  terrible  old  Vesuvius!  silently  cradling  his  slumbering  de- 
struction, —  sullenly  "  nursing  his  wrath  to  keep  it  wai-m," — 
covering  his  head  with  a  tiiick  cloud,  as  though  to  hide  his 
awful  secrets  from  the  world.  There  is  something  mysterious 
and  sinister  in  this  veiling  of  his  dread  front,  which  makes 
him  a  more  imposing  and  fearful  object  to  me  than  when  the 
wind  lifts  his  cloud  crown,  and  shows  a  small  dark  column 
of  smoke  steadily  rising  from  the  black  crater. 

Salerno,  April  22. 
I  have,  to-night,  a  most  memorable  day  to  look  back  upon 
and  strive  to  chronicle,  while  yet  under  the  spell  of  its  op- 
pressive and  bewildering  emotions.  I  have  seen  Herculaneura 
and  Pompeii  since  the  morning.  At  the  former  place,  we  only 
visited  the  object  of  greatest  interest  at  present  —  the  theatre 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  317 

This  is  wholly  under  ground  :  visitors  descend  into  it  with  ta- 
pers, by  a  winding  staircase,  cut  much  of  the  way  in  the  solid 
lava.  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum  were  not  filled  with  the 
same  volcanic  matter  :  the  first  was  choked  by  a  scorching 
rain  of  ashes ;  while  the  latter  was  whelmed  by  a  perfect  sea 
of  fused  lava  and  rock,  which  came  surging  in  upon  it,  and 
swelled  high  in  the  streets,  and  ran  into  the  houses  as  though 
they  were  moulds,  and  hardened  there  into  an  iron-like  solidity. 
Even  in  the  theatre  there  are  yet  great  blocks,  and  columns,  and 
walls  of  this  petrified  fiery  flood,  bringing  home  to  one,  with 
fearful  force,  the  reality  of  the  tremendous  tragedy  of  a  city's 
destruction  and  intombment.  Yet  those  black,  granite-like 
masses,  and  the  gloomy  darkness  of  the  theatre  itself,  lit  alone 
by  the  feeble  gleaming  of  our  tapers,  made  it  most  difficult  for 
the  mind  to  picture  the  scene  as  it  once  was  —  gay  with  lights 
and  music,  crowded  with  fair  dames  and  gallant  men,  the 
orchestra  filled  with  musicians,  the  stage  alive  with  actors,  and 
every  now  and  then,  rising  from  those  wide-circling  seats,  the 
stir  and  murmur  of  quiet  applause,  or  the  loud  burst  of  accla- 
mation. It  was  a  strange,  strange  thing  to  walk  across  the 
stage,  and  into  the  greenroom  and  dressing  rooms  of  the 
actors.  I  never  had  feelings  so  solemn  in  any  religious  edifice, 
ruined  or  entire,  as  in  this  ancient  temple  of  pleasure.  In  one 
of  the  passages  leading  off  the  stage  there  is  shown,  overhead, 
the  perfect  impression,  in  lava,  of  a  comic  masl<,  which  had 
been  floated  up  there  on  the  swelling  flood.  'This  is  one  of 
the  most  suggestive  objects  to  be  seen  here.  One  cannot  look 
at  it  without  thinking  of  the  many  times  when  its  appearance 
must  have  been  hailed  with  bursts  of  laughter,  ringing  through 
these  now  dark  and  tomb-like  vaults. 

The  immense  difficulty  of  excavating  here,  the  limited  num- 
ber of  excavations,  and  the  impossibility  of  carrying  them  much 
farther  without  peril  to  the  town  above,  give  to  tlie  thought  of 
Herculaneum  an  awful  vagueness,  a  profound,  overwhelming 
27* 


518  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

mystery.  The  theatre  is  very  large,  and  must  have  been  a 
magnificent  edifice.  Its  best  sculptures  and  frescoes  have  been 
removed  to  the  Museum  at  Naples,  but  enough  remains  to 
show  that  it  was  built  and  ornamented  with  much  richness  and 
taste.  But  the  few  beautiful  details  seemed  to  take  nothing 
from  the  general  effect  of  gloom  and  terror ;  and  never  did  the 
fresh  upper  air  and  the  warm  sunshine  seem  so  delicious  and 
radiant  to  me  as  when  I  emerged  from  this  chill,  sepulchral 
place. 

For  a  mile  or  two  before  w^e  reached  Pompeii,  we  saw  large 
fields  of  lava,  black,  barren,  desolate,  looking  like  the  entrance 
to  the  infernal  regions ;  and  yet  nothing  could  be  brighter  or 
pleasanter  than^  Pompeii  itself,  amid  all  its  lonely  desolation. 

A  thrill  of  inexpressible  emotion  shot  through  my  heart  the 
moment  my  foot  struck  on  the  old  pavement  worn  by  the  feet 
and  the  chariot  wheels  of  the  ancient  Pompeians  ;  and  my  eye 
followed  the  long  street,  the  Via  Appia,  lined  on  either  side 
with  the  tombs,  the  houses,  the  inns,  and  the  shops  of  nearly 
two  thousand  years  ago. 

We  first  visited  the  house  of  the  rich  citizen  Diomed,  which, 
after  all  that  has  been  taken  from  it,  I  was  surprised  to  find  so 
beautiful  and  complete.  The  upper  and  third  stor}'^  is  gone, 
but  by  those  which  remain  you  can  see  that  it  was  a  handsome 
and  luxurious  establishment.  We  entered  a  portico  by  a  flight 
of  white  marble  steps,  then  passed  into  the  court,  where  was 
the  imphwium  —  a  large  stone  basin,  which  received  the  water 
from  the  roofs.  Afterwards  we  were  shown  the  larium,  a  sort 
of  private  chapel,  where  a  statue  of  Minerva  was  found ;  a 
bathing  room,  and  dressing  room,  with  all  the  appurtenances; 
a  dining  room,  a  bed  room  ;  the  apartments  of  the  slaves ;  the 
garden,  containing  a  cistern  for  fish ;  a  terrace,  from  which 
there  is  a  fine  view  ;  and,  lastly,  the  cellar  where  the  wine  was 
stored,  and  where  the  jars  which  held  it  still  remain,  some 
broken  and  some  entire — all  crowded  with  ashes.    Here  were 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  319 

found  the  skeletons  of  eighteen  adults  and  two  children  — 
probably  the  household  of  Diomed  —  who  took  refuge  hei  e. 
Our  guide  told  us  that  one,  that  of  a  woman,  was  found 
standing  upright  against  the  wall,  and  showed  what  he  said 
was  the  impression  of  her  form.  Two  other  skeletons,  sup- 
posed to  be  those  of  Diomed  and  a  servant,  were  found  near 
the  gate  of  the  villa,  and  beside  them  a  bag  of  coin. 

Opposite  their  house,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Via  Appia, 
is  the  family  tomb  of  Diomed.  We  afterwards  w^ere  shown 
several  tombs  and  columbaria,  the  place  where  the  bodies  of 
the  dead  were  burned ;  the  great  inn  of  the  city,  which  seems 
more  like  a  palace  than  an  inn  ;  a  beautiful  house,  called 
"  the  house  of  Sallusf,"  and  the  one  which  Bulwer  describes 
as  that  of  Glaucus,  the  same  that  from  some  sculptures  and 
frescoes  was  called  "  the  house  of  the  dramatic  poet."  The 
handsomest  private  edifice  yet  discovered  is  the  house,  or 
rather  palace,  of  a  magistrate,  or  some  high  officer  of  state. 
It  is  larger  in  its  proportions  than  the  other  dwellings,  and, 
though  despoiled  of  its  chief  treasures,  yet  rich  in  marbles, 
mosaics,  and  frescoes.  It  has,  beside  the  usual  elegant  inner 
court,  a  large  outer  one,  or  garden,  surrounded  by  white 
marble  columns. 

In  all  the  buildings  which  we  visited,  I  was  agreeably  sur- 
prised by  the  style  of  the  paintings  decorating  the  walls, 
which  I  had  been  told  was  such  as  to  shock  the  commonest 
sense  of  decency.  I  know  not  what  have  been  removed  ox- 
})urposely  defaced  ;  but  I  certainly  saw  nothing  which  merited 
such  severe  condemnation.  They  are  mostly  of  subjects  takci. 
from  the  ancient  mythology,  handled  very  much  as  modern 
painters  would  handle  them,  only  with  more  grace  and  natural 
ness.  They  are, 'tis  true,  rather  voluptuous,  but  not,  I  think, 
grossly  so.  Yet  every  thing  indicates  that  the  Pompeians 
were  eminently  a  gay,  epicurean,  sensual  people.  Their 
dwellings  have  every  where  a  light,  festive,  luxurious  air  — 


320  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

you  cannot  think  of  any  great  sorrow  having  wailed  and 
sobbed  through  them,  or  of  fierce  and  deadly  passions  storming 
within  them  ;  all  has  the  aspect  of  quiet,  high-bred,  almost 
passionless  pleasure.  There  seem  comparatively  few  marks 
of  business  or  toil  along  their  narrow  streets,  and  among  their 
illuminated  houses  and  elegant  little  shops ;  and  their  noble 
temples  show  that  religion  was  with  them  a  classic  refinement, 
a  poetic  luxury. 

A  place  of  great  interest  for  its  original  purposes  and  admi- 
rable preservation  is  the  Pantheon,  or  Temple  of  Augustus. 
Then  there  are  the  Public  Baths,  still  wondei'fully  complete 
and  curious  ;  the  small  Temple  of  Isis,  still  haunted  as  by 
the  dark  mysteries  of  that  inscrutable  goddess ;  the  Public 
School,  the  Theatres,  the  Amphitheatre,  the  Barracks,  and 
the  Forum.  Of  course,  we  saw  many  minor  objects,  and  en- 
tered numerous  private  houses,  differing  little  from  each  other, 
but  all  more  or  less  beautiful  in  style  and  decoration.  The 
Forum  and  Tragic  Theatre  were  larger  and  richer  than  I  had 
expected  to  see  them,  giving  me  a  higher  idea  of  the  wealth 
and  magnificence  of  the  city  than  aught  else.  The  Comic 
Theatre  is  small,  and  almost  wholly  without  marbles  —  it  was 
evidently  a  cosy,  substantial  affair  for  the  citizens. 

While  we  were  walking  before  the  orchestra,  or  seated  on 
the  stone  steps,  which  served  both  for  pit  and  boxes,  a  peasant 
leaped  on  to  the  stage  and  sung  us  a  comic  song,  accompany- 
ing himself  with  dancing  and  castanets,  concluding  with  a 
somerset,  which  Italian  performers  of  his  class  seem  to  believe 
the  ne  plus  ultra  of  novelty  to  a  foreigner. 

If  it  be  asked  what  I  felt  and  thought  on  finding  myself, 
in  very  truth,  at  Pompeii,  and  beholding  the  resurrection 
of  this  long  dead  and  buried  city,  if  it  be  expected  that  I 
answer  eloquently  and  vividly,  Heaven  help  me  !  for  I  am  yet 
so  bewildered,  so  absolutely  drunken  with  the  intense  excite- 
ment  of  the   scene,    as   to   be   equally  without    clearness  of 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  321 

perception  or  force  of  expression.  At  length  the  wild,  longing 
hope  of  years  was  realized.  I  stood  upon  the  spot  haunted 
by  the  most  romantic  dreams  and  the  finest  imaginations  of 
my  early  girlhood.  One  of  the  "  Meccas  of  ine  mind  "  was 
reached.  I  could  almost  have  flung  myself  prone  upon  that 
rude  pavement,  and  kissed  the  stones  on  which  I  scarcely 
dared  to  tread.  I  fed  my  soul  on  that  golden  opportunity  as 
on  an  unlooked-for  luxurious  repast.  I  drank  in,  like  dark, 
luscious  draughts,  the  melancholy  yet  intoxicating  poetry  of 
the  scene.  As  I  wandered  through  the  private  dwellings,  the 
homes  of  a  race  whose  very  type  has  been  swept  from  the 
earth  these  many,  many  centuries,  —  as  I  looked  on  the 
unworn  mosaic  floors,  on  the  brilliant  walls,  blooming  with 
fresh  arabesques,  on  the  snowy  sculptures,  on  the  living  fres- 
'oes,  —  I  said,  half  wildly,  to  myself,  "It  was  but  yesterday 
that  the  rain  of  ruin  came  down  ;  to-day  it  has  cleared  away, 
and  all  will  go  on  as  before."  Then,  appalled  by  the  desolate 
bareness  and  stillness,  I  went  vaguely  wandering  through 
corridors  and  chambers  feeling  strange  promptings  to  shriek 
aloud,  and  call  the  dwellers  from  some  secret  hiding-place. 
It  was  only  when  looking  up  to  the  roofless  tops  of  the  houses 
that  I  could  realize  how  the  mountain  had  stormed  his  black 
destruction  upon  them,  and  crushed  them  in,  and  packed  them 
close  to  the  last  vault  and  niche  ;  and  how,  since,  the  long,  dark 
centuries  had  rolled  over  them,  till  their  very  burial-place  had 
been  forgotten,  till  the  unsuspecting  peasant  built  his  cottajje 
and  planted  his  vineyard  above  the  palaces  and  tombs  of 
princes  and  the  temples  of  the  gods. 

The  Forum,  once  surging  with  the  busy  Pompeian  throng ; 
the  theatres,  once  roaring  with  the  storm  of  popular  excite- 
ment ;  the  temples,  once  imposing  with  heathen  rites  and 
mysteries,  —  were  to  me  far  less  interesting  than  those  pleasant 
little  courts,  in  which  children  must  have  played  ;  those  quiet 
household  rooms,  where  woman  must  have  enjoyed  and  suf- 


322  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

fered  ;  those  sunny  ohambers,  where  gay  girls  must  have  sung 
and  chatted,  or  where  young  mothers  may  have  rejoiced  over 
their  first  born,  or  sorrowed  over  their  first  dead.  Then  there 
are  the  public  wells  and  fountains,  around  which  gossips 
must  have  gathered,  and  merry  boys  frolicked  in  the  cool  of 
summer  evenings ;  and  the  sheltered  public  seats,  where  the 
men  must  have  sat  and  talked  over  political  matters,  the  plays 
at  the  theatre,  and  the  games  and  gladiatorial  combats  of  the 
amphitheatre.  Then  there  is  an  eating  house,  with  rude 
pictures  on  the  wall  of  people  eating  and  drinking  at  a  sur- 
prising rate  ;  and  an  apothecary's  shop,  a  gallipot  taken  from 
which  I  have  seen  in  the  museum  at  Naples.  It  contains  some 
sort  of  balsam,  retaining  its  color  and  strong  aromatic  smell. 

• 

Think  of  a  perfume  coming  down  to  us  through  eighteen 
centuries !  We  stood  for  some  time  watching  an  excavation 
which  was  going  on.  They  were  opening  a  private  house, 
which  promised  to  disclose  something  fine  in  the  way  of  deco- 
rations. I  saw  the  .ashes  first  scraped  away  from  a  small 
fresco  in  the  vestibule,  and  it  came  out  seemingly  as  bright 
as  it  was  left  by  the  painter's  hand.  It  was  some  graceful 
mythological  figure,  with  flying  drapery,  azure  and  golden  ; 
but  to  me  it  seemed  a  lovely  image  of  the  soul,  arising  from 
the  dust  and  darkness  of  mortality,  as  the  leaden  ashes  were 
cleft  away  and  the  light  struck  upon  it,  the  first  light  which' 
had  kindled  its  bloom  since  it  was  blinded  and  buried  away 
from  sun  and  air,  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  It  is  estimated 
that  not  more  tlian  a  fifth  part  of  Pompeii  has  been  laid 
open ;  but  evidently  the  principal  public  buildings,  the  most 
important  temples  and  forums,  the  first-class  theatres,  the  most 
elegant  private  houses  —  the  West  End  —  have  been  discov- 
ered. The  excavations  are  still  going  on,  but  very  slowly ;  as 
this  not  being  a  political  or  religious  enterprise,  little  money 
IS  appropriated  for  it.  Still  there  is  a  hopeful  sign  of  life  and 
progress  in  a  fine  railway  running  fi  i>m  Naples,  swarminj^, 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  323 

overHowing,  with  noisy  vitality,  to  that  silent  city  of  the  dead, 
linking,  as  it  were,  with  short  iron  bands,  the  nineteenth  century 
to  the  first,  whirling  you  with  a  whiz,  and  a  flash,  and  a  wild, 
brief  rush,  back,  back  almost  into  the  time  of  Christ.  A  rail- 
way station  at  Pompeii  —  does  it  not  seem  a  stupendous  anach- 
ronism ?  During  the  entire  drive  from  Pompeii  to  Salerno, 
we  all  sat  utterly  silent,  lost  in  the  wonderful  memories,  ima- 
ginings, and  speculations  conjured  up  by  the  scene  we  had 
beheld.  I  remember  little  of  the  scenery  on  our  way  during 
that  long,  long  drive.  There  ""was  reason  enough  for  my  not 
seeing  it,  in  my  inward  preoccupation,  and  the  gross  outward 
obstructions  to  vision  in  the  blinding,  chalky  dust,  which 
whirled  about  us  and  rained  upon  us  almost  as  the  ashes 
rained  upon  Pompeii.  When  we  reached  the  pleasant  sea- 
side inn  at  Salerno,  and  descended  from  the  carriage,  a  host 
of  beggars  came  up  against  us  ;  but  when  we  shook  ourselves, 
I  verily  believe  that  we  utterly  disappeared  for  an  instant  in 
a  thick  white  cloud  —  were  caught  away  out  of  their  sight, 
like  ascending  angels. 

Salerno  is  charmingly  situated,  and  commands  some  lovely 
views ;  but  the  population  seem  excessively  poor,  idle,  dirty, 
and  beggarly,  for  a  seaside  town.  Of  course,  it  has  its  hand- 
some cathedral  —  a  Gothic  edifice  of  the  ninth  century,  very 
rich  in  marbles  and  mosaics  plundered  from  the  ancient  tem- 
ples of  Poestum.     It  holds,  also,  the  tomb  of  St.  Matthews 

Amalfi,  April  24. 

"We  left  Salerno  yesterday  morning,  at  six  o'clock,  to  visit 
the  site  and  ruins  of  ancient  Poestum,  distant  about  twenty- 
eight  miles.  Our  route  lay  through  a  country  pleasant  and 
highly  cultivated  in  portions,  but  dreary  and  unproductive  in 
its  general  aspect. 

For  some  miles  before  we  reached  Poestum,  the  scene 
seemed  to   darken,  and  grow  wild,  and   strange,  and  weird. 


324  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

\"et  had  it  a  beauty  of  its  own,  a  stern,  savage  beauty,  as  ol 
the  complete  desolation  and  desertion,  the  irredeemable  barba 
rism,  of  nature,  unrelieved  by  the  faintest  smile  of  culture, 
uncomforted  by  any  sign  of  human  life.  We  passed  through 
a  wild,  weary,  malaria-breathing  plain,  with  the  purple  moun- 
tains on  one  side,  and  the  violet  sea  on  the  other.  The  still- 
ness was  deadly  oppressive ;  the  very  winds  seemed  stilled  ; 
and  it  was  with  a  strange  sort  of  ominous  expectation,  an 
almost  superstitous  dread,  that  I  approached  that  place  whose 
beauty  and  greatness  have  become  marvellous  traditions,  al- 
most myths,  of  Ihe  remote  past,  and  from  whose  few  grand 
remains  pestilence,  leagued  with  ruin,  has  scourged  away  the 
last,  miserable,  clinging  forms  of  humanity,  that  they  might 
stand  in  the  bare  and  awful  majesty  of  utter  desolation. 

The  origin  of  Poestum  is  wrapped  in  obscurity,  its  early 
history  buried  in  antiquity;  but  it  w^as  an  ancient  city  when 
Rome  was  founded.  The  three  great  temples  which  now  re- 
main look  hoary  and  immemorial  as  the  everlasting  hills. 
You  may  pile  up  the  centuries  to  reach  the  time  of  their 
foundation,  and  you  are  lost  in  a  cloud  of  mystery  and  vain 
conjecture.  The  swallows  which  twitter  from  the  cornices, 
and  the  rooks  which  caw  from  the  broken  capitals,  are  scarcely 
less  ignorant  than  we. 

The  principal  ruins  of  Puestum  are  three  temples,  built  of 
dark-gray  stone,  apparently  of  a  marine  formation ;  the  style 
of  building  is  bold,  severe,  and  ponderous ;  the  broad,  massive 
foundations  of  each  edifice,  and  the  great  number  of  immense 
columns,  seeming  to  bid  defiance  to  time,  ruin,  almost  to  the 
convulsions  of  nature. 

There  is  something  awful  in  their  aspect,  as  they  stand 
ranged  there  alone  on  that  blighted  plain,  facing  the  melan- 
choly sea,  spoiled  by  wars  and  the  robberies  of  ages,  black- 
ened and  broken  by  tempests  and  time,  yet  still  grand,  sterc 
iupernal. 


,       A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  325 

Tliese  temples  stand  near  together,  and  we  passed  easily 
from  one  to  the  other,  but  lingered  longest  in  that  of  Neptune, 
the  best  preserved,  and  by  far  the  most  imposing.  Here  we 
lounged  in  the  soft  sunlight,  and  listened  to  the  swallows,  and 
watched  the  glancing  of  the  lizards  among  the  stones,  and  idly 
plucked  strange  little  parasite  plants,  and  dreamed  and  talked 
of  the  old,  old  times,  when  this  was  the  scene  of  the  pomps 
and  mysteries  of  heathen  rites,  when  perchance,  where  we 
sat,  stood  an  altar,  reeking  with  the  blood  qf  human  sacrifices. 
Yet  neither  meagre  histor}'  nor  affluent  imagination  was  s'^f- 
fered  to  awe  us  out  of  an  appetite  for  our  lunch,  which  we 
took  very  merrily/  and  relished  heartily,  within  this  solemn 
old  temple. 

In  place  of  the  marvellous  roses  of  Poestum,  which  blos- 
somed twice  a  year,  there  are  now  hosts  of  the  loveliest  wild 
flowers ;  and  the  air,  which  is  so  feared  as  freighted  with  mala- 
ria, is  as  deliciously  balmy  as  though  blowing  from  the  Elysian 
Fields.  It  was  only  when  I  looked  on  the  colorless  and  cadav- 
erous faces  of  the  few  peasants  who  still  haunt  the  spot,  for 
the  sake  of  the  travellers  who  have  the  temerity  to  visit  it. 
that  I  suspected  a  Judas  kiss  in  the  soft  caressing  of  the  wind. 

This  morning  we  set  out  at  an  early  hour  for  this  place,  in 
an  open  boat,  with  six  rowers.  At  first  all  went  braveiy  — 
we  were  in  famous  good  spirits,  had  a  bright  sun,  a  blue  sky, 
and  not  too  rough  a  sea.  But  scarcely  had  we  been  out  half 
an  hour  when  the  sky  before  us  clouded  and  blackened,  the 
wind  came  up  dead  against  our  course,  formidable  waves  began 
to  swell  and  break  about  us,  and  ominous  white  caps  to  flash 
in  tlie  distance.  We  had  an  awful  shore  on  our  right  —  one 
black,  unbroken  succession  of  high,  precipitous  rocks,  without 
the  shadow  of  a  landing,  or  the  smallest  foothold,  for  miles  on 
miles.  For  several  hours  we  did  nothing  but  double  small 
capes  and  round  stormy  points,  hoping,  as  we  approached  each 
one,  that  just  behind  it  lay  our  haven,  yearned-for  Amalfi, 
28 


326  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS     OF 

which  seemed  to  fly  before  us.  Ever  blackened  the  sky, 
ever  rose  the  waves,  and  at  last  came  down  the  rain  !  Our 
men  cheered  each  other  with  invocations  to  the  Vii-gin  and 
shouts  of  "  Corr/^(7?*o  /  "  and  '' Mnccaroni  / ''  while  as  for  us 
passengers,  though  our  spirits  were  a  little  damped  by  the 
drenching  shower,  and  a  trifle  awed  by  the  danger,  no  one 
showed  the  white  feather  to  any  disgraceful  degree.  Yet  I 
must  confess  that  we  all  united  decidedly,  and  a  little  peremp- 
torily, in  a  command  to  be  put  on  shore  at  the  first  landing. 
I  was  slightly  seasick,  which  was  the  happy  excuse  I  offered 
for  not  continuing  the  voyage.  We  were  landed  in  a  little 
cove,  some  two  or  three  miles  from  Amalfi.  . 

After  a  scrambling  climb  we  reached  the  high  road,  where 
fortunately  we  encountered,  and  were  able  to  press  into  our 
service,  a  calesso,  an  indescribable,  two-wheeled  vehicle,  which 
with  difficulty  accommodates  three,  but  with  no  more  difli- 
culty  thirteen,  passengers.  We  were  but  seven,  for  the  "  brave 
courier  "  walked,  having  an  eye  to  the  sailor  who  carried  our 
luffs-a^e ;  so  we  had  what  the  driver  doubtless  considered 
abundance  of  room.  Yet,  dear  reader,  could  you  have  seen 
us,  how  we  were  piled  up,  and  packed  down,  and  hung  and 
swung  about;  had  you  seen  the  peculiar,  involuntary  action 
of  our  dangling  feet  and  our  helpless  arms,  under  the  abomi- 
nable jolting  of  this  whimsical  chariot  when  in  full  career ; 
had  you  seen  the  motley  crowd  of  beggars  swelling  at  every 
turn,  pressing  close  upon  us,  and  whining  and  yelling  like  a 
pack  of  hungry  wolves,  —  you  would  not  have  lacked  stuff  for 
laughter  for  a  twelvemonth. 

About  a  mile  out  of  Amalfi  we  all  descended  from  our 
calesso,  and  walked  into  the  town,  with  a  train  which,  in  num- 
bers, would  rival  many  a  royal  procession.  On  a  high,  breezy 
point,  commanding  a  noble  view  of  the  sea,  we  were  arrested 
by  the  autocratical  courier,  and  conducted  up,  up,  and  yet  up, 
/)  our  rooms  in  the  famous  inn  of  La  Luna,  once  a  most  holy 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  327 

monastery.  The  cloisters  yet  remain,  and  right  pleasant  they 
are,  opening  on  to  a  fragrant  flower  garden.  The  cells  which 
surround  them  have  been  thrown  together  into  airy  chambers, 
which,  though  most  simply  furnished,  are  comfortable  and 
cleanly. 

After  a  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette^  we  sallied  forth  on  a  short 
exploring  expedition — first  visiting  the  church,  which  con- 
;ains  nothing  remarkable,  except  it  be  the  tomb  of  St.  Mark. 
As  the  Cathedral  of  Salerno  holds  that  of  St.  Matthew,  we 
expect,  by  natural  sequence,  to  find  those  of  Saints  Luke  and 
John  at  Sorrento  and  Castell-a-Mare.  We  then  walked  up 
a  long,  rocky  ravine,  where  we  were  cheered  by  the  sound 
of  the  rushing  water  and  the  whirling  wheels  of  mills  r.nd 
factories.  Amalfi  is  a  manufacturing  town,  and  for  that  rea- 
son its  inhabitants  are  quiet,  industrious,  and  comparatively 
prosperous.  It  has  a  history  more  glorious  than  one  would 
suppose  possible,  not  alone  from  its  present  appearance,  but 
from  its  natural  position.  It  was  once  a  flourishing  and  pow- 
erful republic,  and  it  has  immortal  interest  as  the  birthplace 
of  Giovanni  Flavio,  the  inventor  of  the  compass,  and  of  Mas- 
saniello. 

After  our  dinner,  —  which,  by  the  way,  was  a  capital  one,  — 
our  courier  pntered  to  announce  that  "some  of  the  people"  re- 
quested the  privilege  of  singing,  playing,  and  dancing  the 
'•'Tarantella''^  before  us.  We  had  hoped  to  get  on  to  Sorrento 
to-night ;  but,  though  the  rain  was  quite  over,  and  the  full  moon 
out  in  her  pure  Italian  radiance,  the  winds  werevtill  high,  and 
the  waves,  though  w^earing  white  caps  very  like  nightcaps, 
showed  no  signs  of  rest,  but  danced  and  tumbled  about  like 
wide-awake  and  turbulent  children,  who  ivon\t  be  put  to  bed. 
So,  in  our  forlorn,  shipwrecked,  and  weather-bound  condition, 
we  were  ready  for  any  thing  that  promised  innocent  divertise- 
raent  —  ordered  the  table  removed,  and  the  performances  tc 
eommence  as  soon  as  possible      If,  my  d(^ar  reader,  you  have 


328  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

any  enchanting  recollections  of  the  "  Tarantella^^  as  danced  b} 
the  divine  Ellsler,  or  any  romantic  imaginings  of  it  as  per- 
formed by  peasant  youths  and  maidens,  in  gay  and  graceful 
costumes,  dismiss  all  such  visions,  I  beseech  you.  Our  "  Ta- 
rantella "  was  performed  by  half  a  dozen  sailors  and  fishermen 
—  rough,  sunbrowned,  briny,  scaly  fellows,  coatless  and  bare- 
footed, with  the  exception  of  one,  who  was  dressed  in  a  flashy 
suit  of  cast-ofF  livery  —  blue  long  coat  and  red  plush  breeches, 
with  an  enormous  wig  of  flax.  The  dance  was  a  queer^  farci- 
cal aflfair,  barbarian  and  bearish  —  a  succession  of  childish 
pantomimes,  and  odd,  incomprehensible  antics.  There  was  a 
good  deal  of  somersaulting  of  an  ambitious  character —  mostly 
by  a  certain  lank  and  lengthy  young  man,  who  startled  us 
every  time  with  the  apprehension  that  he  was  about  to  land 
in  some  of  our  laps,  or  would  fling  himself  clean  through  the 
Avindow  into  the  sea.  But  the  music  was  another  affair.  We 
had  tolerable  players  on  the  guitar  and  mandolin,  and  several 
really  fine  singers ;  among  them  was  a  boy  of  thirteen,  with  a 
marvellously  rich  and  powerful  barytone  voice,  who  sung  mag- 
nificently. But  I  must  take  a  little  moonlight  stroll  around 
the    cloisters,  a   long  lookout  over  the  starlit  sea,  and   then 

to  bed. 

J^APLES,  April  26. 

We  left  Amalfi  early  in  the  morning  of  a  most  brilliant  day, 

and  though  the  winds  were  not  quite  laid,  nor  the  sea  tranquil, 

we  had  a  glorious  row  along  that  wild,  magnificent  shore  — 

ploughing  through  the  deep  purple  shadows  it  cast  upon  the 

sea,  dashing  into  the  foam  and  the  spray,  and  the  azure  and 

golden  lights  surrounding  its  rocky  points.     Our  embarkation 

at  Amalfi  was  something  noteworthy,  as  we  were  all  borne  to 

the  boat,  through   several  yards  of  surf,  in  the  arms  of  the 

sailors.     The  ladies  were  taken  first,  of  course,  and  so  had  a 

5ne  opportunity  to  watch  the  shipment  of  the  gentlemen.     I 

shall  never  forget  the  transportation  of  Mr.  H .     The 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  329 

dear  old  gentleman,  who  is  of  goodly  dimensions,  rosy  and 
pleasant  to  look  upon,  with  the  freshness  of  kindly  feelings  and 
an  ever-youthful  heart,  came  in,  borne  by  two  stout  sailors  — 
smiling  blandly  in  answer  to  our  peals  of  laughter,  and  looking 
so  free  from  all  anxiety  or  moral  I'esponsibility  —  so  innocent, 
so  helpless,  yet  withal  so  arch  and  jolly,  that  we  declared  he 

was  like  an  infant  Bacchus  carried  by  Tritons.     Mr.  S 

came  in  as  .y.ietly,  smoking  a  cigar,  and,  with  his  tranquil  face 
and  fine  full  beard,  looked  more  like  a  lordly,  luxurious  Turk, 
than  like  an  energetic  Yankee  tourist. 

Our  tall  captain,  who  was  the  marvellous  somersaulter  of 
the  "  Tarantp-lld^'  entertainment,  proved  himself  the  possessor  of 
more  talents  than  one.  He  sung  admirably,  and  with  the  crew, 
whose  voices  were  in  perfect  accord,  gave  us  a  rare  musical 
treat.  They  sung  many  of  the  popular  Neapolitan  songs,  and 
air  after  air  from  th^^  great  Italian  operas. 

Because  of  our  not  having  our  passports,  we  were  not  able 
to  go  by  sea  all  the  way  to  Sorrento,  but  were  obliged  to  land 
at  the  foot  of  a  small  mountain,  ascend  it  by  a  precipitous, 
rocky  pathway,  which  would  almost  make  a  goat's  knees 
tremble,  and  which  is  quite  impracticable  for  donkeys.  It  was 
a  horrible  pull  up  the  steep  and  heated  rocks  in  a  blazing  sun, 
for  all ;  but  for  me,  who  will  always  climb  unassisted,  and  who 
was  weak  from  recent  seasickness,  it  was  dreadful  beyond 
expression  —  an  absolute  agony  of  toil  and  fatigue  ;  and  there 
were  times  when  I  should  have  sunk  down  in  deathlike  ex- 
haustion, but  for  the  fear  that  I  should  roll  from  the  narrow 
pathway,  and  tumble  from  point  to  point,  and  crag  to  crag, 
into  the  sea.  At  length,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
summit,  appeared  the  donkey  man,  with  six  strong  and  sure- 
footed animals,  all  saddled  and  bridled.  O,  never  was  mortal 
more  welcome  to  ray  sight  than  that  burly  and  barefooted 
peasant.  Lifted  on  to  my  donkey,  I  somehow  collapsed  into 
the  saddlr>,  where  for  some  minutes  I  hung  rather  than  sat, 
28* 


330  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

blind,  panting,  helpless  in  my  mortal  exhaustion.  I  let  the 
reins  go  loos(3  —  I  took  no  heed  of  the  shouts  of  the  donkey 
man,  leaving  it  to  him  -A'ho  had  ears  to  hear.  But  under  the 
shade  of  the  olives  on  the  breezy  summit,  and  at  the  inn  where 
we  took  a  short  rest,  we  soon  recovered  breath  and  strength, 
and  set  forth  merrily  for  Sorrento.  The  remainder  of  the 
ride  was  really  very  delightful.  We  descended  through  pleas- 
ant, shady  ways,  catching  every  now  and  then  beautiful  views 
of  Naples,  of  Vesuvius,  of  the  bay,  and  of  all  its  wondrous 
shore,  fringed  witli  gay  towns,  rising  above  buried  cities,  and 
mingled  with  mournful  ruins. 

Through  a  fragrant  garden  of  oranges,  lemons,  myrtles,  and 
roses,  we  entered  the  Sirene  —  the  very  ideal  of  a  seaside 
public  house  —  the  neatest,  sweetest,  breeziest,  balmiest, 
brightest  place  one  can  imagine  —  a  fairy  palace  of  a  hotel  — 
an  enchanted  inn.  But  scarcely  had  we  lounged  and  luxu- 
riated for  an  hour  in  saloons,  balconies,  and  gardens,  and  taken 
our  dinner,  which  was  beyond  praise,  when  the  demon  of 
sightseeing  cried,  "  March  !  "  It  was  proposed  and  seconded 
that  we  should  go  to  Capri,  and  "  do  "  the  Azure  Grotto  that 
very  afternoon.  Mine  host  assured  us  that  we  could  make  the 
passage  there,  twelve  miles,  in  two  hours,  and  back  in  half  the 
time,  as  the  wind  would  be  favorable.  I  made  some  feeble 
opposition  to  the  plan,  but  w^as  a  little  ashamed  to  avow  my 
real  objection.  The  sea  was  not  yet  quite  smooth.  We  were 
to  go  in  an  open  boat,  and  I  had  eaten  fish  for  dinner.  Now, 
I  have  a  superstition  against  eating  any  thing  of  the  finny 
kind  before  going  on  the  water.  I  imagine  that  the  fish  be- 
low scent  the  departed,  and  follow  the  boat  as  the  aquatic 
kindred  of  Undine  pressed  about  the  bark  of  the  knight ;  and  I 
inevitably  feel  something  within  me  mysteriously  moved,  as  in 
answer  to  a  call  I  cannot  hear. 

We  went  off  gallantW,  in  a  fine,  large  boat,  with  six  oars- 
men —  the  sails  furled,  as  the  wind  was  against  us.     Well,  J 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  331 

am  sorry  to  say  that  the  breeze  stiffened,  and  I  sickened ;  the 
sea  rose,  and  1  tell,  being  completely  laid  out  on  one  of  the 
benches  ;  and  moreover,  that  the  two  hours  stretched  them- 
selves into  four,  so  that  when  we  reached  Capri,  where  w^e 
didn't  even  land,  it  was  nearly  sunset,  and  so  high  a  sea  was 
rolling  that  it  was  impossible  to  enter  the  Azure  Grotto.  The 
probability  is  that  our  host  of  the  Siren,  who  owns  the  boat, 
knowing  perfectly  well  the  state  of  the  wind  and  tide,  had 
"  done  "  us  —  taken  us  in  as  the  patron  saint  of  his  establish- 
ment was  wont  to  take  in  the  hapless  mariners  of  old.  By 
the  way,  I  have  always  had  a  belief  that  the  ancient  Sirens 
were  a  species  of  gulls. 

The  sail  back  to  Sorrento  was  beautiful,  said  they  who  were 
able  to  sit  up  and  look  about  them.  Even  I  had  a  %int,  des- 
perate sort  of  enjoyment  in  it ;  for  the  sails  steadied  Aie  boat, 
and  the  demon  of  seasickness  loosened  somewhat  his  clutch 
upon  me.  We  flew  through  the  deepening  twilight,  over  the 
dark-blue  waves,  at  the  rate  of  eight  knots  an  hour. 

This  morning  we  drove  to  Naples,  over  a  road  which,  for  its 
varied  scenery  and  picturesque  views,  seems  to  me  only  com- 
parable with  the  Cornice  leading  to  Genoa.  It  was  with 
heartfelt  reluctance  that  we  left  Sorrento,  which  must  ever 
seem  to  me  one  of  the  loveliest  places  on  earth.  O  pride  and 
darling  of  this  delicious  shore,  —  like  a  young  festive  queen, 
rose-crowned,  sitting  in  the  shade  of  oranges  and  myrtles, 
watched  over  with  visible  tenderness  by  the  olive-clad  hills, 
gently  caressed  and  sung  to  by  the  capricious  sea,  —  bright, 
balmy,  bewitching  Sorscnto,  adieu  ! 


CHAPTER   XV.' 

Ascent  of  Vesutius.  —  Museum.  —  Group  of  the  Fahnese  Bvll.  — 
Bronzes  from  Herculaneum.  —  Pompeian  Curiosities.  —  Vib« 
oil's  Tomb.  —  Grotto  of  Posilippo.  —  Pozzuoli.  —  Lake  Aver- 
Nus.  —  CuMA.  —  Baia.  —  Temple  of  Mercury.  —  Lake  Fusaro, 

THE   ANCIENT    StYX.  —  ThE   ElYSIAN    FieLDS.  —  BaTHS    OF   NeRO.  — 

Grotto  of  the  Sibyl.  —  Beggars. — Festa  of  San.  Gennaro. — 
The  Miracle.  —  The  Lazzaroni.  —  The  Churches  of  Naples.  — 
Grotta  del  Cane.  —  Aspect  of  Naples.  —  The  Solfatara.  — 
Last  Visit  to  the  Museum.  —  The  Balbus  Family.  —  Pompeian 
Works  of  Art.  —  The  Catacombs.  —  The  New  Cemetery.  —  The 
Pits.  —  A  Drive  through  the  Haunts  of  the  Lazzaroni.  —  The 
Prisons. 

April  28. 
Yesterday  we  made  the  ascent  of  Vesuvius  as  far  as  the 
Hermitage.  This  we  were  able  to  do  in  a  carriaore  with  three 
horses,  in  about  four  hours.  The  Hermitage  is  the  point 
where  the  rode  terminates,  and  where,  if  you  wish  to  ascend 
to  the  crater,  you  take  ponies  for  the  remainder  of  the  way  to 
the  foot  of  the  cone,  and  guides  for  the  great  climb,  which 
alone  occupies  an  hour  and  a  half. 

For  this,  wJiich  is  a  horribly  fatiguing  expedition,  and  only 
worth  undertaking  during  the  time  of  an  irruption,  my  late 
illness  had  utterly  incapacitated  me,  and  no  other  member  of 
the  party  felt  strong  or  adventurous  enough  for  it ;  so  we  all 
contented  ourselves  with  this  drive  to  the  Hermitage,  wMch, 
though  certainly  neither  an  adventure  nor  an  astounding  ex- 
ploit, was  something  memorable  and  impressive. 

For  a  long  distance  up  the  mountain  the  land  is  cultivated, 
»nd  wonderfully  icrtile   in    portions.     Nothing   is    so  richly 

(332) 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  333 

productive  as  the  old  lava  —  olives,  vines,  grasses,  and  great 
varieties  of  beautiful  wild  flowers  grow  upon  it  in  the  utmost 
luxuriance.  It  is  a  strange  sight  to  see  orchards,  and  vine- 
yards, and  rich,  flowering  clover  growing  on  the  edge  of  vast 
streams  of  newer  lava  —  black,  swollen  torrents  petrified  in 
the  very  billows  in  which  they  rolled  from  the  seething  crater 
—  deep,  dark  ravines,  where  burning  rocks  ploughed  and 
plunged  down  their  tremendous  course.  But  as  we  higher 
ascended,  still  more  dreary  and  awful  grew  the  scene,  fewer 
and  smaller  became  those  strips  and  spots  of  verdure  and 
bloom,  and  there  opened  upon  us  wide,  black,  billowy  wastes 
of  J'lva,  without  one  green  or  living  thing  —  a  sea  of  ashes, 
and  cinders,  and  sulphurous,  half-molten  rocks  ;  terrific,  horri- 
ble, unearthly  —  an  extinguished  hell. 

On  our  way,  as  we  sometimes  walked,  we  had  a  good 
opportunity  to  observe  the  different  varieties  of  lava.  Most  of 
it  is  crumbly  and  porous,  looking  like  cinders  from  a  furnace, 
thoroughly  burned  out.  Then  there  is  the  rock  lava,  which  I 
believe  is  very  old,  nearly  as  hard  as  granite.  Pompeii  is 
paved  with  this  kind  ;  so  that  the  doomed  city  was  floored  and 
roofed  by  Vesuvius. 

Sea  shells  are  often  found  embedded  in  lava,  ar>d  the  reced- 
ing of  the  sea,  in  time  of  eruptions,  is  said  to  be  caused  by 
the  mountain  sucking  up  the  water,  as  one  of  the  elements 
with  which  he  works  in  his  infernal  laboratory.  At  the  Her- 
mitage we  remained  about  an  hour,  tasting,  as  in  duty  bound, 
some  of  the  hermit's  lacryma  Christi,  a  sort  of  Vesuvian 
"mountain  dew,"  if  not  the  real  "crater,"  at  least  very 
near  it. 

The  view  from  this  point,  though  perhaps  inferior  to  that 
from  the  foot  of  the  cone,  is  wide,  varied,  and  wonderfully 
beautiful.  But  from  all  the  beauty  of  that  glorious  sea,  those 
purple  islands  and  rocky  points,  and  the  sunny  and  storied 
shore,  I  ever  turned  to  gaze  on  that  fell  demon  of  a  mountain, 


334  II APS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

looking  so  sullenly  unrepentant  for  the  destruction  he  ha* 
v/rought  in  the  ages  gone  by  —  lifting  his  black,  scathed  head 
defiantly  towards  heaven,  and  panting  upward  the  hot  breath 
of  his  secret  agony.  There  were  times  when,  thinking  of  the 
burning  sea  imprisoned  beneath  me,  I  scarcely  dared  to  tread 
heavily,  feeling  that  the  firm  earth  under  my  feet  was  but  a 
frail  crust,  a  sort  of  floating  bridge  over  a  surging,  fiery  flood. 

A  little  way  above  the  Hermitage  is  an  observatory,  be.ong- 
ing  to  the  king  —  quite  a  handsome  building,  with  a  pretty 
little  flower  garden ;  yet  a  most  unenviable  office  were 
that  of  cusf.ode,  I  sljould  say.  Think  of  Vesuvius  in  wild, 
winter  nights,  wlien  the  tempests  are  battling  it,  pouring  floods 
into  its  hissing  crater,  whirhng  ashes  around  its  desolate  cone, 
thundering  against  it,  and  rolling  rocks,  and  rattling  the  loose 
lava,  down  its  scarred  old  sides  !  An  awfully  fitting  place  it 
seems  to  me  for  fiends  to  riot,  jousting  with  lightning  lances, 
f.nd  careering  on  sulphurous  gales. 

To-day  we  have  spent  several  hours  in  the  Museum.  It 
will  be  impossible  for  me  to  particularize  a  fifth  part  of  those 
works  of  art  and  curious  antiquities  which  impressed  and 
interested  me  ;  but  of  a  few  I  will  briefly  speak. 

Of  the  sculptures,  there  is,  first,  the  magnificent  group  of 
the  Farnese  Toro,  representing  the  story  of  Dirce  ;  a  work  of 
Greek  art,  whose  spirit  and  power  actually  chain  you  before 
it.  Then  there  is  the  grand  old  Hercules  Farnese,  also  pure 
Greek  ;  a  figure  whose  rugged  strength  in  proud  repose,  whose 
splendid  colossal  manhood,  charm  me  more  than  the  beauty 
and  grace  of  an  Antinous.  In  it  you  see  what  is  called 
"  brute  force"  made  divine.  I  believe  that  the  loveliest  frag- 
ment in  the  world  is  the  Neapolitan  Psyche;  but  you  are 
almost  as  much  pained  at  its  great  losses  as  charmed  by 
what  remains.  The  Venus  Anadyomine  from  Pompeii,  a 
Greek  statue,  with  some  restorations,  struck  me  as  rarely 
beautiful;  and  the  statue  of  Aristides,  found  in  the  theatre  of 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE,  335 

H«rculaneum,  is  full  pf  majestic  strength,  nobility,  and  pro- 
found thought. 

Among  the  bronzes  discovered  at  Pompeii  and  Hercula- 
neum  are  many  statues  of  surpassing  grace,  force,  and  nat- 
ural action.  But  it  is  not  these  great  works  of  art,  which 
stood  in  temples,  theatres,  and  other  public  places,  which  most 
vividly  bring  before  you  the  time,  the  people,  and  the  every- 
day life  of  these  long-buried  cities,  but  those  familiar  house- 
hold and  personal  objects  which  are  kept  apart  fi'om  these, 
and  very  closely  guarded.  In  a  case  by  itself,  we  saw  a  com- 
plete set  of  gold  ornaments  beloziging  to  the  wife  of  Diomed, 
or,  at  least,  found  on  a  body  supposed  to  be  hers.  Afterwards 
we  were  shown  the  purse  oi'  money  and  the  key  found  in  the 
skeleton  hand  of  Diomed,  near  the  gate  of  his  villa.  Among 
the  ornaments  there  are  many  of  a  sirangely  modern  appear- 
ance, especially  the  hoo[),  and  serpent  bracelets,  and  the 
circular  broaches,  or  jihiil<E,  The  earrings  are  generally 
heavier  than  any  modern  dame  could  well  su[)port,  and  the 
Hnger  rings  are  enormous.  The  wedding  ring  of  Madame 
Diomed  has  graven  upon  it  a  representation  oi  the  marriage 
ceremony.  Then  there  are  necklaces,  and  hairpins,  and 
various  head  ornaments,  and  armlets,  and  anklets,  and  beauti- 
ful little  jewelled  boxes  for  the  toilette.  On  the  inside  of  a 
chased  gold  bracelet,  very  like  the  one  I  wear  to-day,  you 
can  distinctly  read  the  name  of  the  fair  owner  —  '•'•  Cornelia," 
O,  who  was  Cornelia? 

In  the  same  room  we  were  sliown  graceful  little  bronze 
vases,  and  silver  plate,  and  jars  of  figs,  and  corn,  and  nuts, 
6ind  QQgs,  which  looked  almost  fresh,  and  bread  unbroken, 
bearing  the  baker's  mark  —  pots  of  paints,  the  colors  appar- 
ently as  brilliant  as  ever  —  fishing  nets,  fragments  of  clothing, 
lamp  wicks,  wine  cups,  leaven,  cakes,  and  a  piece  of  beef  in  a 
saucepan.     Most  of  these   things  were,  of  course,   hardened 


836  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

and  discolored,  yet  not  so  much  so  bulrthat  you  could  readily 
distinguish  them. 

In  another  room  we  saw  the  suit  of  armor  of  the  sentinel 
found  at  his  post — the  skull,  half  filled  with  ashes,  yet  grins 
from  the  rusty  helmet.  Here  we  saw  many  cooking  and  farm- 
ing utensils,  and  articles  of  household  furniture  —  the  iirst 
often  neat  and  ingenious,  the  last  exceedingly  graceful  and 
elegant.  Then  there  are  surgical  and  musical  instruments, 
tickets  for  the  theatre,  dice,  articles  for  the  toilet  and  the 
bath,  inkstands,  tablets,  stylets,  and  seals.  The  little  me- 
tallic mirrors  are  all  dim  and  blank,  as  though  blackened  by 
the  breath  of  that  awful  destruction,  and  blinded  by  the  night 
of  ages  which  followed,  or  as  though  faithful  to  the  patrician 
beauty  they  once  reflected,  and  sullenly  refusing  to  give  back 
our  strange  barbarian  faces. 

This  afternoon  we  have  taken  a  drive  to  Virgil's  tomb,  at 
the  entrance  of  the  Grotto  of  Posilippo.  That  great  poet  en- 
tailed, perhaps  unconsciously,  a  great  inconvenience  upon  pos- 
terity, by  building  his  columbarium,  or  family  tomb,  in  a  spot 
so  difficult  of  access.  If  you  would  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
place,  prepare  yourself  for  a  long,  dusty,  disagreeable  climb 
through  a  small  vineyard  and  an  immense  vegetable  garden. 
The  tomb  itself,  which  is  an  ivy-grown  vault,  with  two  openings, 
would  look  venerable  and  Virgilian  enough,  except  for  a  very 
modern  tombstone,  erected  by  some  classical  German.  The 
niches  have  been  robbed  of  all  their  urns,  ashes,  and  bones, 
if  they  ever  held  any. 

The  Grotto  of  Posilippo  is  an  ancient  tunnel,  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  narrow,  badly  lighted,  dirty,  and 
dismal.  In  passing  through  it  you  are  almost  sure  to  encoun- 
ter a  drove  of  donkeys,  a  flock  of  sheep,  or,  what  is  infinitely 
worse,  a  herd  of  goats.  Ugh  !  the  horrid  hole  !  Yet  it  sounds 
poetical  —  the  Grotto  of  Posilippo. 


A   TOUR    IK    EUROPE,  337 

April  '^. 

To-day  we  have  made  the  Cumean  excursion,  and  have  had 
a  heavenly  time,  passing  first  through  purgatory,  in  the  shape 
of  the  Grotto  of  Posilippo.  We  first  stopped  at  Pozzuoli,  an 
old,  old  town,  where  St.  Paul  landed,  and  where  he  founded  a 
church.  Here  we  saw  the  remains  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter 
Serapis,  whiclj,  it  is  still  evident,  was  a  structure  of  great  mag- 
nificence. After  leaving  Pozzuoli,  we  saw,  at  the  left,  Monte 
Barbaro,  an  extinct  volcano,  and,  at  the  right,  Monte  Nuovo, 
which  was  thrown  up  in  a  single  night  by  an  eruption  in 
1538.  Then,  after  passing  the  dark  and  sad-looking  Lake  of 
Avernus,  we  came  to  the  Arco  Felice,  the  once  beautiful,  and 
still  majestic,  entrance  to  ancient  Cuma.  Of  the  city  itself, 
nothing  remains  but  a  few  ruined  and  rifled  tombs,  and  here 
and  there  a  mound,  heaped  up  of  ruins,  and  overgrown  with 
luxuriant  vegetation.  On  a  hill  which  overlooks  the  whole 
valley,  so  lonely  and  silent  now,  but  once  so  thronged  with  the 
gay  and  noisy  life  of  a  city  supreme  in  splendor  and  pleasure, 
there  are  yet  a  few  broken  pillars,  half  buried  in  the  earthy 
marking  the  spot  where  stood  the  great  Temple  of  Apollo. 

A  curious  place  is  the  Palace  of  the  Sibyl  —  some  chambers 
hewn  out  of  the  rock,  on  a  pleasant,  breezy  hill.  Here  she 
had  also  a  temple,  but  the  whole  establishment  is  now  turned 
mto  a  stable  ;  so  tliat,  should  the  shade  of  some  ancient  king 
or  hero  return  here  to  consult  the  oracles,  he  might  receive  a 
response*  more  suited  to  the  folly  of  his  quest  than  those  of 
old  —  the  bleat  of  a  calf,  or  the  bray  of  an  ass. 

At  Baia,  once  so  renowned  for  its  opulence  and  luxury 
the  favorite  haunt  of  princely  roues  and  imperial  voluptuaries, 
we  saw  some  majestic  masses  of  ruin.  The  principal  and 
finest  of  these  is  the  Temple  of  Venus,  on  the  shore  of  the 
sea  ;  the  next  in  importance  is  the  Temple  of  Mercury,  a  cir- 
cular building,  with  a  dome  much  like  that  of  the  Pantheon  at 
Rome.  In  this  we  had  great  amusement  with  a  singular  ec}i(>. 
'I'd 


838  HAPS   AND   MISHAPS    OP 

It  was  unlike  all  the  echoes  I  had  ever  heard,  being  neithei 
goblin-like  nor  demon-like,  but  seemed  a  well-bred,  agreeable, 
sociable  sound-spirit,  answering  only  to  quiet,  col  versational 
tones.  It  would  chat  along  after  you,  repeating  instantly,  and 
with  the  utmost  distinctness,  your  lowest  words,  even  whis- 
pers ;  but  if  you  spoke  in  too  high  a  key,  or  screamed,  it  was 
quite  dumb.     It  seemed  to  take  a  particular  ^ancy  to  Mra. 

H 's  voice,  and  gave  it  back,  to  the  sliglitest  intonation,  with 

a  precision  really  wonderful.  So  instantaneous  was  the  echo 
that  it  was  difficult  to  tell  which  spoke  first,  she  or  the  wall. 
When  two  or  three  were  talking,  the  reiteration  became  a 
little  bewildering.  "  O,'*  thought  I,  "  what  a  glorious  place  were 
this  for  a  tea  party  of  ancient  gossips,  v.'ho,  talk  as  fast  as 
they  may,  and  all  together,  can  never  have  confusion  enough  I" 
At  Lake  Fusaro  we  rested,  and  treated  ourselves  to  a  few 
of  the  fine  oysters  for  which  it  is  famous.  This  piece  of 
water,  which,  though  lying  rather  low  and  lonely,  is  a  quiet, 
pleasant  little  lake  enough,  is  the  ancient  Acheron,  or  Styx.  I 
thought,  as  I  sat  discussing  the  oysters,  and  looking  out  along 
the  green,  sunny  shore,  th&t  those  poor  bankrupt  shades  who, 
presenting  themselves  to  old  Charon  without  the  obolus  to  pay 
their  ferriage,  were  doomed  to  wander  here  forever,  were  not 
so  badly  off,  after  all.  Far  more  agreeable  is  tlie  whole  vicin- 
ity of  Acheron  than  the  Elysian  Field*,  which,  whatever  they 
were  in  the  time  of  Virgil,  are  any  thing  but  paradisiacal  now. 
On  a  beautiful  hill  are  the  remains  of  the  villa  of  Julius  Cae- 
sar, afterwards  of  Augustus.  Here  Virgil  read  the  sixth  book 
of  the  ^lEneid  to  Octavia ;  here  Nei'o  planned,  and  caused  to 
be  executed,  the  murder  of  his  mother  Agrippina.  The  next 
place  we  visited  was  called,  with  what  authority  I  know  not, 
the  Baths  of  Nero.  It  is  a  place  much  resorted  to  by  the 
peasants  when  afflicted  with  rheumatism.  It  consists  of  small 
chambers  and  passages,  cut  in  the  rock  by  the  side  of  a  hill, 
mid  fdlcd  with  hot  air  and  vapor  from  boiling  mineral  waters. 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  339 

Immediately  on  our  arrival,  the  man  in  charge  of  the  estab- 
lishment prepared  to  do  the  honors  by  lighting  a  torch,  strip- 
ping himself  to  the  waist,  and  taking  a  small  bucket,  containing 
half  a  dozen  eggs,  which  he  was  to  boil,  for  our  edification,  in 
Nature's  own  pot.  We  followed  him  for  some  distance  into 
those  close,  narrow  passages ;  but,  finding  the  heat  something 
quite  awful,  beat  a  retreat.  The  man  came  out  in  two  or 
three  minutes,  panting  and  puffing,  with  the  perspiration  actu- 
ally pouring  from  him,  and  triumphantly  presented  the  eggs, 
which  he  declared  were  done  hard.  But  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  I  had  afterwards  rather  disagreeable  evidence  to  the  con- 
trary. I  rashly  intrusted  mine  to  my  pocket,  and  a  pretty 
mess  it  made  of  every  thing  there. 

But  the  most  amusing  incident  of  the  day  was  our  visit  to 
the  Grotto  of  the  Sibyl,  on  Lake  Avemus.  This  is  the  place 
to  which,  according  to  Virgil,  ^neas  came  to  consult  the  ora- 
cles. It  is  a  little,  subterranean  palace,  apparently  cut  from 
the  solid  rock,  and  only  to  be  seen  by  torchlight.  We  entered 
by  a  long,  vaulted  passage^  partly  filled  by  volcanic  ashes  — 
a  black,  stifling,  dismal  place.  THis  ends  in  a  small  chamber, 
from  which  descends  a  flight  of  steps  to  the  pri\  ate  apartment 
or  Grotto  of  the  Sibyl.  Here  a  difficulty  presents  itself  in 
that  portion  of  the  distinguished  ancient  lady's  residence,  being 
overflowed  with  water,  to  the  depth  of,  at  least,  two  feet.  The 
only  way  of  entering  is  on  the  backs  of  your  guides  —  an  ex- 
tremely ridiculous  proceeding,  but  one  adopted  by  all  resolute 
and  thorough-going  tourists.  I,  knowing  "little  Latin,  and 
less  Greek,"  am  so  little  of  a  clas^cal  antiquarian,  that  I  must 
confess  the  matter  only  presented  itself  to  me  in  the  light  of 
a  comical  adventure,  which  I  was  unwilling  to  lose ;  so, 
when  my  friends,  who  had  all  solemnly  agreed  to  enter  with 
me,  ingloriously  drew  back  at  the  last  moment,  I  selected  the 
tallest  and  broadest  of  the  barelegged  guides,  and  alone  fol- 
lowed him  down  to  the  water.    As  he  plunged  in,  I  was  a  little 


340  HAPS    AND    MISIIArS    OF 

startled  to  see  that  it  rose  a  good  way  above  his  knees ;  but  I 
was  in  for  it,  and  mounted  without  hesitation,  crossing  my 
arms  on  my  guide's  breast,  tightly,  as  for  dear  life,  and  pulling 
up  my  feet,  according  to  his  directions,  in  an  indescribable 
manner.  Holding  a  great  torch  in  one  hand,  and  steadying 
me  with  the  other,  my  sturdy  sea  horse  plunged  gallantly 
through  the  waters,  bearing  me  quite  safely  from  point  to 
point ;  though  I  sometimes  endangered  my  seat,  and  loosened 
my  hold,  by  the  convulsions  of  laughter  in  which  I  indulged. 
The  actual  comedy  was  not  enough.  I  laughed  yet  more  mer- 
rily at  thinking  that,  should  my  animal  stumble  and  fall,  tun> 
bling  me  into  the  water,  and  extinguishing  the  torch  as  he 
went  down,  what  a  floundering,  choking,  and  groping  time  we 
should  have  of  it !  Then  I  grew  poetical,  and  compared  my- 
self to  a  mermaid  taking  an  airing  on  a  dolphin,  and  even 
flattered  myself  that  the  group  bore  some  resemblance  to  the 
triumph  of  Galatcea. 

Throughout  this  little  aquatic  and  equestrian  tour,  my  burly 
bearer  complimented  me  on  my  riding  and  my  courage,  and 
cheered  me  by  shouting,  "  Brava  !  "  "  Coraggio  1  "  "-Maccaro- 
ni  1  "  and  a  phrase  slightly  inappropriate  it  may  be,  but  prob- 
ably the  only  English  he  was  master  of —  ^'Pidl  away,  hoys!  " 
.  Well,  what  did  I  see  ?  Two  small  chambers,  two  bath- 
ing tubs,  a  flight  of  stone  steps  leading  up  to  a  closed  door,  a 
few  broken  stucco  figures  very  much  begrimed  with  the  smoke 
of  torches,  black  walls,  blacker  water,  et  viola  tout!  But  this 
was  not  the  account  I  gave  to  the  eager  questioning  of  my 
friends,  after  the  guide  had,  against  my  commands  and  en- 
treaties, run  up  the  stairs  with  me  yet  on  his  back,  and  trotted 
round  the  chamber  for  their  divertisement.  No,  indeed.  I 
looked  mysterious,  and,  in  the  usual  manner  of  sightseers 
who  have  been  taken  in,  assured  them,  seriously  and  com- 
aiiseratingly,  that  they  did  not  know  what  they  had  lost. 
Every  where  on  this  excursion  we  were  beset  and  besieged 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  341 


with  leggars.  The  entire  population  seems  to  consist  of  ras- 
cally, extortionous  guides,  and  the  most  miserable  mendicants. 
Really,  the  old  banditti  race  were  better  than  this.  Who 
would  not  rather  have  an  honest  robber  or  two  present  a  pis- 
tol at  his  breast  once  on  a  journey,  than  be  eternally  dogged 
by  whining  beggars,  or  to  have  insolent  ciceroni  forever 
grumbling  and  cursing  about  their  fees  ?  In  coming  to  Italy, 
you  must  learn,  sooner  or  later,  to  harden  your  heart,  and  "  set 
your  face  as  a  flint,"  for  "  the  poor  you  have  always  wdth  you ; " 
and  if  you  give  to  one,  you  are  charged  upon  by  scores.  In 
view  of  these  disagreeable  consequences,  we  have  all  learned 
to  restrain  our  benevolence  towards  the  most  miserable  objects 

—  all  but  Mr.  H ,  whose  feelings  are  often  too  much  for 

him.  He  is  particularly  weak  in  resisting  the  appeals  of  suf- 
fering old  people,  pretty  young  girls,  and  roguish  children. 
For  some  time  after  coming  to  Naples,  he  actually  showered 
small  money  about  him  ;  but  lately  the  stern  courier  has 
stopped  the  supply  ;  so,  not  speaking  the  language,  he  has 
great  difficulty  in  getting  change,  as  we  all  refuse  to  negotiate 
with  him,  though  offered  an  enormous  profit  in  the  way  of  inter- 
est and  premiums.  When  his  pockets  are  well  charged  with 
coppers,  I  really  believe  he  enjoys  being  beset  with  beggars. 
He  thoroughly  understands  one  Italian  phrase  —  '■^  Datemi 
qualche  cosa  !  "  ("  Give  me  something.")  It  is  amusing  to  see 
him  surrounded  by  teasing  boys  and  merry  girls,  all  stretching 
out  their  palms,  rapping  their  chins,  and  crying,  "  Qualche  cosa 
eccellenza  1 "  —  laughing  at  his  English-Italian,  and,  most  of  all, 
at  his  attempts  to  frown  and  scold.  They  sometimes  pick  his 
pockets  of  gloves  and  handkerchief;  and  he  takes  his  losses  so 
kindly  that  I  am  tempted  to  believe  him  privy  to  the  theft  — 
indeed,  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  yet  went  about  with  his  coat 
pocket  stuffed  with  bright-colorfed  handkerchiefs  especially 
suited  to  the  taste  of  the  gay  Neapolitan  damsels. 

I  once  escaped  from  a  crowd  in  which  he  was  engaged  to  a 
29* 


342  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

place  I  believed  secure  and  solitary,  where  I  sat  down  for  a 
moment's  rest,  when  suddenly,  from  a  wall  behind  me,  a  little 
old  woman  leaped  directly  on  to  my  back,  shrieking,  "  Qiialche 
cosa,  SiffJiora,  per  Vamore  di  Dio  !  "  I  fear  I  gave  btit  an  un- 
amiable  and  irreverent  response  to  so  solemn  an  appeal ;  for  I 
passed  fr(5m  my  fright  into  such  a  rage  that  she  was  fain  to 
take  herself  off  with  the  best  speed  she  was  mistress  of,  in- 
voking all  the  saints  as  she  went. 

May  1. 

Yesterday  was  a  festa  in  honor  of  San  Gennaro,  perhaps 
the  most  popular  saint  in  the  calendar  at  Naples.  The  streets 
were  brilliantly  illuminated,  the  churches  decorated  ;  and  there 
was  a  grand  procession,  followed  by  an  imposing  ceremony  at 
the  cathedral.  This  is  the  saint  whose  blood,  kept  in  a  bottle, 
miraculously  liquefies  and  flows  upon  certain  occasions,  to  the 
boundless  edification  of  the  faithful,  especially  of  the  lazzaroni. 
Of  course,  on  this,  his  own  festa,  the  saint  performed  the  mira- 
cle, a  sight  which  we  misrht  have  witnessed  had  we  chosen  to 
encounter  the  press  of  the  crowd  and  endure  the  usual  neces- 
sary waiting.  The  people  attach  great  importance  to  this 
miracle,  which,  though  oft  repeated,  is  never  stale  to  them. 
"Whenever  the  blood  is  long  in  liquefying,  they  take  it  as  an 
omen  of  evil ;  and  should  it  at  any  time  fail  to  flow  altogether, 
they  would  believe  Naples  on  the  eve  of  being  destroyed  by 
Vesuvius  or  swallowed  by  an  eartiiquake.  It  is  told,  that,  at 
the  first  exhibition  of  the  sacred  bottle  which  took  place 
before  Murat,  the  blood  remained  obstinately  coagulated  for 
an  unprecedented  length  of  time.  The  people  were  alarmed, 
qnd  grew  turbulent ;  while  the  officiating  priest,  who  wished 
the  new  king  and  government  to  be  unpopular,  chuckled 
triumphantly,  till  Murat  sent  him  word  that,  unless  the  saint's 
blood  flowed  in  five  minutes,  his  own  should — and  speedily 
the  rai'acle  came  off. 

The  Neapolitans  are  devout  in  their  way  ;  and  an  odd,  child- 


A    TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  343 

like,  raerrj  way  it  is.  I  noticed  the  other  day,  in  one  of  the 
churclies,  an  old  woman  standing  by  the  image  of  a  saint^ 
talking  to  it  in  an  easy,  conyersational  way,  quite  delightful  — • 
and  when  she  left,  she  said,  "  Addio  !  "  smiled  and  nodded,  and 
even  kissed  her  hand,  as  to  some  familiar  crony.  I  heard  in 
Rome  a  little  anecdote,  told  by  an  English  tourJst,  which 
amused  me  greatly.  He  overheard  a  poor  Neapolitan  woman 
praying  before  a  shrine  of  the  Virgin,  as  v/eil  as  I  can  re- 
member, in  this  wise :  "  Santa  Maria,  my  poor  boy  is  ill  with 
the  fever  —  have  mercy  on  him,  and  cure  him,  for  the  sake  of 
your  own  beautiful  boy.  O  holy  mother,  come  at  once,  if  you 
can,  to  my  house,  —  via  San  Lorenzo,  number  eight,  last 
floor,  —  and,  for  the  love  of  God,  don't  mistake  the  door !  *'  It 
sounds  yet  more  odd  and  childlike  in  the  Italian. 

The  churches  of  Naples  are  not  comparable  to  those  of 
Rome,  being  equally  without  grandeur  or  simplicity,  gaudily 
gorgeous,  and,  as  a  general  thing,  poor  in  fine  works  of  art. 
The  Basilica  of  San  Francisco  di  Paolo,  built  on  the  plan  of  the 
Pantheon,  is  the  finest  I  have  yet  seen. 

This  afternoon  we  took  a  drive  to  the  Grotta  del*  Cane,  on 
the  Lake  of  Agano.  This  grotto  is  a  small  cave  in  the  side  of 
a  hill,  where  there  is  a  powerful  emission  of  carbonic  acid  gas. 
The  least  whiff  of  it  is  enough  to  make  your  head  whirl,  and 
a  torch  is  extinguished  by  it  in  a  moment.  But  the  chief  ex- 
periments are  made  upon  dogs,  which  are  kept  for  the  pur- 
pose, and  which,  instead  of  looking  poor  and  miserable,  are  in 
very  good  condition,  actually  seeming  to  have  fattened  on  gas 
and  asphyxia.  Yet  the  puppy  selected  to-day  came  up  very 
reluctantly  to  the  trial.  Young  as  he  was,  he  had  had  his. 
hard  experiences  of  life,  and  evidently  M'as  in  mortal  fear  of 
the  stern  master  who  gave  him  fits  for  no  fault  of  his,  and 
lived  upon  bis  spasms.  Laid  upon  his  back  in  the  cave,  ho 
Bet  up  a  low,  piteous  howl,  wliich  was  answered  by  a  sympa- 
thetic whire  from  several  dogs  witiiout.     Accoixiin«  to  thti 


344  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

book,  if  held  there  another  half  minute,  he  should  nave  gone 
off  in  strong  convulsions ;  but  the  tender  heartedness  of  some 
of  our  party  interfered  with  the  complete  success  of  the 
experiment.  Yet  there  was  quite  a  satisfactory  amount  of 
spasmodic  action,  and  the  poor  little  brute  tumbled  about  very 
clumsily,  and  walked  drunk,  up  to  the  time  of  our  leaving.  I 
know  it  is  a  cruel,  senseless  exhibition ;  but  it  is  one  of  the 
sights  which  every  bod}'  does^  and,  had  we  omitted  it,  certain 
it  is  that  some  kind  friend  would  afterwards  have  condoled 
with  us  on  having  missed  "  the  very  best  thing  to  be  seen  at 
Naples."  Besides,  I  really  suppose  the  dogs  are  used  to 
asphyxia,  as  eels  are  to  being  skinned. 

After  our  return  to  the  city,  which  we  reached  in  the  early 
part  of  the  beautiful  sunset  time,  we  took  a  turn  on  the  Capo 
de  Monte,  the  finest  carriage  drive  in  Naples,  commanding 
wide  and  glorious  views  of  sea  and  shore.  On  this  drive  we 
met  the  King's  brother,  the  Due  di  Syracuse,  sporting  a  dash- 
ing turnout.  He  is  a  gross,  coarse-looking  man,  bearing  a 
strong  resemblance  to  that  monster  of  perjury  and  cruelty, 
Ferdinand  II.  Here,  and  on  the  yet  more  fashionable  ami 
accessible  Via  Chiaja,  we  met  many  hundreds  of  carriages,  of 
all  grades  and  varieties,  filled  with  smiling  and  gayly-dressed 
people.  Tlie  lightest,  brightest  turnouts  in  the  world  are  the 
Neapolitan,  especially  those  of  the  middle  classes.  Carriage 
makers  seem  to  indulge  themselves  in  all  sorts  of  queer 
conceits  in  fashion,  painting,  and  decoration,  and  the  harness 
makers  to  revel  and  run  mad  in  brazen  devices-  Horses  go 
gleaming,  and  clashing,  and  tinkling  under  a  preposterous 
amount  of  polished  brass,  and  such  an  innumerable  quantity 
of  tiny  bells  as  you  would  never  believe  it  possible  to  string 
and  wreathe  about  their  thin  necks  and  heads. 

Naples  seems  to  us  more  and  more  cheerful  and  charming ; 
there  is  every  where  such  a  rush  and  rattle,  and  animating 
tumult  of  business  and  pleasure.     I  like  it  because  it  is  so 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  345 

noisy,  so  varied,  so  all  astir,  so  absolutely  surcharged  with  life. 
A  drive  through  one  of  the  streets  gives  you  a  wonderful, 
ever-cbangijig  panorama  of  humanity.  Now  comes  a  troop 
of  soldiers,  fine,  gallant-looking  men ;  now  a  gang  of  galley 
slaves,  escorted  by  a  guard ;  now  a  band  of  street  musicians 
!Now  you  pass  a  portable  little  dramatic  establishment,  from 
which  certain  shrill,  unmistakable  sounds  proclaim  to  a  grin- 
ning crowd  the  domestic  infelicities  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Punch. 
Now  goes  by  the  carriage  of  a  prince,  followed,  it  nay  be,  by 
a  peasant's  cart,  drawn  by  a  cow  and  a  donkey.  Now  a 
funeral  procession,  a  few  priests  with  torches,  the  dead  man 
borne  upon  a  bier,  coffinless,  and  dressed  as  in  life,  preceded 
and  followed  by  professional  mourners  in  white  dominoes, 
masked,  and  looking  more  ghastly  and  awful  than  you  can 
conceive. 

It  is  curious  to  go  down  into  the  haunts  of  the  lazzaroni 
along  the  shore  ;  to  see  them,  up  to  their  hips  in  water,  lazily 
dragging  in  a  small  fish  net  —  twenty  doing,  with  much  pant- 
ing and  parade,  the  work  of  five ;  or  to  watch  them  as  they 
lie  asleep  on  the  sand,  with  their  brown  faces  turned  up  to- 
wards the  sun  —  a  peculiar,  half-savage,  amphibious,  som 
niferous,  dirty,  and  degraded  class,  for  which  I  fear  there  is 
little  hope  for  many  generations  to  come. 

Ma  y  9. 

This  morning  we  had  an  obscure  view  of  the  interior  of  the 
Theatre  of  San  Carlo.  It  is  closed  at  present,  but  we  were 
let  in  during  a  ballet  rehearsal.  It  is  a  magnificent  house, 
certainly,  but  not  so  large  as  I  expected  to  find  it.  This  after- 
noon we  drove  out  to  Pozzuoli,  to  see  some  objects  of  interest 
which  we  were  unable  to  see  in  our  hurried  visit  of  last  Friday. 

We  first  went  to  the  Solfatara,  the  crater  of  a  volcano  not 
yet  wholly  extinguished  —  the  spot  called  by  the  ancients  the 
Furnace  of  Vulcan.  Here  the  volcanic  smoke  still  ascends  in 
several  places,  and  fire  is  seen  at  night.     The  ground  resounds 


346  HAPS    AND    MISHArS    OF 

beneath  you  when  a  stone  is  thrown  upon  it ;  and  before  a  small 
cave,  from  which  smoke  issues,  the  heat  is  unbearable,  and 
you  hear  a  dull  roar  as  of  a  tremendous  furnace  in  full  blast. 
Altogether,  it  is  a  place  to  fill  one  with  involuntary  fear  and 
dread,  and,  though  intensely  interested,  I  was  not  sorry  to  find 
myself  beyond  its  sulphurous  confines.  A  strange,  strange 
country  this  is  —  so  surpassingly  lovely,  yet  so  full  of  fiery 
forces  and  destructive  elements  —  like  some  strong,  beautiful, 
and  passionate  soul  for  whom  heaven  and  hell  are  con- 
tending. 

From  the  Solfatara  we  went  to  the  ruins  of  the  Amphi- 
theatre. Older  than  the  Coliseum,  it  was  next  to  it  in  size, 
and  I  should  say,  from  the  noble  marble  columns  which  yet 
remain,  but  little  behind  it  in  magnificence.  Even  now, 
though  very  ill  preserved,  it  is  a  most  imposing  monument  of 
ancient  grandeur. 

To-morrow,  wind  and  weather  favorable,  we  make  another 
attempt  upon  Capri.  If  the  Fates  are  against  us,  and  we  can- 
not get  into  the  Azure  Grotto,  we  shall  declare  it  a  myth,  as 
we  do  every  sight  which  we  make  a  virtuous  effort  to  see,  and 
fail,  and  let  it  go ;  for  on  the  fourth  we  are  expecting  to 
take  the  steamer  for  Leghorn. 

May  3. 
This   morning  all   seemed  favorable   for  our  excursion   to 

Capri.  We  drove  down  to  the  Mola,  took  a  boat,  rowed 
out  to  the  steamer,  and  rowed  back  again  —  having  been 
informed  that  the  Euxine^  with  a  most  unjustifiable  caprice 
and  instability  peculiar  to  Neapolitan  vessels,  had  changed  its 
days,  and  this  trip  was  bound  for  Ischia.  To  console  our- 
selves, we  went  to  the  Museum,  "  to  take  a  last,  fond  look." 
In  the  galleries  of  sculpture  I  remained  long  before  an  An- 
tinous,  of  the  Farnese  collection,  the  Venus  Victorieuse,  a 
"Sacchus  from  Plerculaneum,  and  a  Ganymede,  all  "  beautiful 
SiLceedingly."     The  statues  of  the  Balbus  family,  father  and 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  547 

son,  mother  and  four  daughters,  the  first  two  equestrian, 
found  in  the  basihca  of  Herculaneum,  are  very  fine  works,  full 
of  force  and  character.  They  present  a  strong  family  hkeness, 
and  yet  have  decided  individuahty.  The  head  of  the  mother 
is  full  of  pride  and  matronly  dignity,  stern  even  to  severity. 
In  looking  upon  her  strongly-set  mouth,  and  broad,  imperious 
brow,  you  feel  assured  that  she  exacted  the  most  ceremonious 
respect  from  that  bold  and  handsome  youth  on  horseback, 
that  she  stood  in  no  great  awe  of  M.  Nonius  Balbus  the  elder, 
and  that  the  Misses  Balbus  were  kept  in  wholesome  subjec- 
tion.  The  works  of  art  from  Herculaneum  greatly  differ  in 
character  from  those  of  Pompeii.  In  the  first  you  see  the  true 
Roman  spirit,  earnest,  forcible,  and  often  severe ;  in  the  latter 
is  Greek  art,  but  Greek  art  at  play,  revelling  in  all  sorts  of 
graceful  fancies,  quaint  conceits,  poetic  whims,  and  delicious 
absurdities.  In  looking,  to-day,  through  the  Pompeian  fres- 
coes, I  was  more  than  ever  impressed  by  their  grace,  light- 
ness, and  infinite  variety,  by  the  rich  fancy  and  boundless 
imagination  they  disphiy,  and  by  the  reflection  that  these 
were  but  the  ordinary  decorations  of  the  simplest  private 
houses,  scattered  here  and  there,  over  walls  and  ceilings,  with 
a  profuse,  a  sort  of  frolicsome,  prodigality. 

In  the  collection  of  ancient  glasses  we  saw  a  vase,  found 
at  Pompeii,  which  seemed  to  me  nearly  as  beautiful  as  the 
famous  Portland  vase  which  I  saw  in  London.  It  is  of  blue 
glass  and  white  enamel,  exquisitely  wrought.  Here  we  also 
saw  fragments  of  window  glass  from  Herculaneum  and  Pom- 
peii—  some  from  the  house  of  Diomed,  through  which  the  fair 
Julia  may  have  looked  many  a  time.  It  is  wonderful  what  an 
added  spell  of  power  have  all  those  names,  houses,  and  tem- 
ples which  figure  in  the  beautiful  romance  of  Bulwer.  His 
genius  has  given  life  to  this  skeleton  city  —  has  kindled  a  soul 
under  the  ribs  of  death.  You  do  not  walk  through  those 
silent  streets    repeating   the  names    found  u[)on  statues    and 


548  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

tombs  —  %ague  sounds;  you  are  surrounded  every  where  by 
the  pleasure-seeking  people  he  pictured,  you  move  in  the  at 
mosphere  of  their  gay,  luxurious  life.  Truth  may  be  stranger 
than  fiction  ;  but  fiction  is  often  stronger  than  truth.  Reason 
may  fight  stoutly  against  it ;  but  it  holds  you  fast,  and  will  not 
let  you  go. 

In  one  of  the  rooms  of  Pompeian  curiosities  there  are 
several  cinerary  urns  yet  containing  the  ashes  of  the  dead 
These  are   so  like  pickle  jars,  or  preserve  pots,  that  I   burst 

into  a  laugh  when  Miss  W -,  pulling  one  out  from  a  niche 

of  a  cabinet,  and  taking  off  the  lid,  said,  very  graciously, 
*'  Help  yourself."  I  must  confess  to  having  helped  myself  to 
the  smallest  bit  of  a  calcined  bone,  once  belonging  to  a  Pom- 
peian of  consideration  —  one  whom  perhaps  the  "  gods  loved," 
and  so  spared  the  sight  of  the  destruction  of  his  beloved  city. 

From  the  Museum  we  drove  to  th,e  Catacombs.  These 
were  the  asylums  and  burial-places  of  the  early  Christians, 
like  those  of  Rome,  but  far  more  extensive  than  they.  We 
entered  through  the  church  of  the  hospital  of  San  Gennaro 
de  Poveri,  and  were  conducted  by  two  old  guides,  bearing  lan- 
terns. First  we  were  shown  the  ancient  chapels  and  tombg 
of  early  saints  and  bishops,  yet  decorated  with  the  old  mosaics, 
and  rude  paintings  and  sculptures.  These  minor  sights  dis 
posed  of,  and  the  guides  silenced  for  the  time,  we  could  observe 
in  peace  the  vast,  solemn,  mysterious  Catacombs,  in  all  tiieir 
gloomy,  almost  awful,  grandeur.  This  immense  subterranean 
hiding-place  and  cemetery  was  prepared  for  the  Christians  by 
the  founders  of  Naples  and  the  neighboring  cities,  who  quar- 
ried in  the  rocky  hills  for  materials  for  building.  They  are 
on  a  much  grander  scale  than  those  of  Rome  —  the  passages 
wider  and  higher,  with  large  columns  hewn  from  the  rock. 
There  are  here  and  there  openings  to  the  day,  through  which 
the  sunlight  faintly  struggles,  deepening  wonderfully  the  effect 
of  the  opaque  masses  of  darkness,  the  thick,  primeval  night, 


A    TOUR   IN   EUROPE.  S49 

lurking  in  the  long  passages  which  penetrate  far  into  the 
bosom  of  the  mountain.  But  v/hat  gave  to  the  scene  its  most 
drear  and  terrible  character,  were  the  countless  burial  nichea 
in  the  walls,  all  emptied  of  the  remains  of  the  dead.  There 
is  nothing  in  all  the  world  so  fearfully  desolate  J^  rifled  tombs, 
and  especially  dreadful  is  it  to  think  of  the  bones  of  these 
poor  Christians,  torn  from  their  sad  sanctuary,  scattered 
abroad,  and  trampled  under  foot.  It  seems  as  if  the  infer- 
nal spirit  of  persecution,  here  baffled  of  his  prey,  clutched 
after  it  in  the  grave.  The  Catacombs  have  three  stories,  and 
their  extent  in  every  direction  is  not  now  known,  as  some  pas- 
sages are  walled  up,  as  being  unsafe,  and  some  filled  by  the 
earth  falling  in.  On  the  second  stage  there  is  shown  an  im- 
mense pit,  filled  with  bones  of  the  victims  of  the  last  plague 
—  a  hori-ible  sight  to  look  down  upon.  Like  passing  from 
Hades  into  Elysium  was  the  change  we  made  in  going  from 
those  dark,  haunted,  under-ground  courts  of  death,  to  the 
sunny  brightness,  and  flowery  sweetness,  and  broad,  beautiful 
prospects  of  the  Campi  Santi  Nuovi,  the  new  cemetery  be- 
yond the  city.  Of  those  modern  burial-places,  dedicated  not 
alone  to  death  and  sorrow,  not  preaching  alone  the  sadness 
and  nothingness  of  human  life,  but  sanctified  by  a  divine 
faith,  cheered  by  a  joyful  hope  of  immortality,  and  beautified 
by  nature's  types  of  resurrection,  few  have  ever  seemed  tt 
me  so  fair,  so  sweet,  so  tranquil  as  this,  and  surely  no  other 
in  the  world  commands  views  so  extensive,  so  varied,  so  grand, 
and  yet  so  lovely.  A  sea  that  rivals  the  delicious  heaven 
above  it  in  delicate  coloring  and  all  the  fine  marvels  of  light 
and  shade  —  a  shi^re  of  enchanimeiit —•  hills  on  which  the 
sunlight  sleeps  enamoured  —  distant  islands,  blue  and  beautiful 
as  the  waves,  darling  children  of  the  embracing  deep ;  and 
that  near  mountain,  dark,  ominous,  solemn,  sending  slowly 
up  the  smoke  of  the  hidden  fire  consuming  his  guilty  heart,  to 
mingle  with  the  morning  exhalations  of  the  valleys,  the  pure 
30 


850  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

breath  of  the  unvexed  earth.  In  one  of  the  buildings  at- 
tached to  this  cemetery  we  were  shown  the  chamber  in 
w^iich  tlie  dead,  of  whose  total  lifelessness  there  can  be  the 
slightest  doubt,  are  deposited  for  twenty-four  hours.  There 
is  a  range  of  open,  metallic  coffins,  in  which  they  are  placed, 
with  a  bellrope  attached  to  the  arm.  I  supposed  tliat,  of 
course,  a  mere  touch  would  ring  one  of  these  bells,  but  found 
that  a  very  energetic  pull  was  necessary.  Really,  with  the 
doleful  apartment,  the  uncomfortable  tin  cotfins,  and  those  ex- 
tremely unpropitious  bellropes,  it  seems  admirably  well  con- 
trived that  none  but  the  most  vigorous  and  desperately  deter- 
mined victims  of  autopsy  s"hall  be  resuscitated.  We  saw,  also, 
those  horrible  burial-places  of  the  poor,  —  those  pits,  of  which 
there  are  three  hundred  and  sixty-five,  —  one  being  opened 
each  day,  and  then  closed  for  a  year.  Into  these  vaults  the 
bodies  are  thrown,  at  midnight,  indiscriminately,  and  utterly 
nude.  There  was  something  fearful  in  the  contrast  between 
the  black  paved  yard  which  held  these  pits,  of  which  you  saw 
only  the  iron  doors,  cemented  down,  and  tlie  flowery  graves 
and  costly  tombs  of  the  cemetery  below.  Not  wider  is  the 
gulf  set  between  Lazarus  and  Dives  in  life  than  when  "  rot- 
ting in  cold  obstruction." 

Ma  y  5. 
The  steamer  due  on  the  4th  failed  us,  and  our  embarkation 
is  postponed  till  the  Gth.  The  morning  being  rather  unpleas- 
ant, we  spent  at  home,  but  this  afternoon  we  have  taken  a 
long  drive  through  the  poorest  quarters  of  the  city,  and  along 
the  Strada  Mola,  where  the  lazzaroni  "  most  do  congregate." 
In  one  of  their  market-places,  we  saw  hosts  of  that  unwashed 
fraternity.  It  was  a  festa  day,  and  some  were  walking  in  re- 
ligious processions,  howling  most  atrociously,  headed  by  young 
priests,  who  looked  ashamed  of  their  company.  I  noticed  one 
of  these  pious  processions  passing  a  little  alehouse,  before 
which  a  party  of  Swiss   soldiers  were  drinking,  playing,  and 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  351 

singing  rollicking  songs ;  and  I  must  say  that  the  band  of 
ragged  and  hymn-chanting  saints  regarded  them  rather  too 
long  and  eagerly,  as  by  no  means  unenvious  of  their  carnal 
pleasures.  On 'every  side,  even  in  this  busy  and  crowded 
place,  you  saw  people  yielding  to  their  somnolent  propensities. 
Old  clothes  venders  were  stretched  at  full  length  upon  their 
stock  in  trade,  sleeping  soundly  amid  the  tumult.  Young 
bootblacks  sat  bowing  their  brown  faces  in  their  begrimed 
hands,  oblivious  of  lost  custom.  Orange  girls  slumbered, 
leaning  against  their  stalls,  supported  by  the  invisible  arms 
of  Morpheus.  Fishwomen  slept  among  their  tubs  and  above 
their  scaly  boards,  and  one  old  woman  I  noticed  indulging  in 
"  Nature's  sweet  restorer  "  above  a  table  of  tripe  half  cleaned. 
We  passed  an  improvisatore  speaking  very  fast  and  loud, 
gesticulating  at  a  tremendous  rate,  with  his  shirt  collar  thrown 
open,  his  hair  in  poetic  disorder,  his  black  eye  on  fire,  and  his 
face  bathed  in  the  sweat  of  inspiration.  He  had  his  circle  of 
admirers,  and,  when  he  closed,  a  young  tatterdemalion  went 
about  with  a  greasy  cap  to  collect  coppers.  There  were  op- 
position crowds  about  a  comic  singer  and  a  reader  of  romances. 
We  passed  the  prison  for  the  worst  criminals  —  a  gloomy, 
fearful  place.  Along  the  front  are  yet  hanging  the  heads  of  a 
band  of  brigands,  executed  many  years  ago.  From  the  dust 
lodged  in  these  skulls,  grass  and  mosses  have  grown  ;  from 
the  eyesockets  of  some,  wallflowers  have  sprung ;  so,  after 
all,  they  were  not  so  terrible  to  look  upon  as  the  living  heads 
at  the  gratings  of  the  prison,  which  grinned,  and  yelled,  and 
howled  at  us.  We  passed  another  large  prison,  which,  like 
this,  seemed  crowded  with  criminals.  In  no  city  of  Europe 
which  I  have  visited  have  I  been  so  impressed  with  the  utter 
demoralization  and  brutalization  of  the  lowest  classes  as  at 
Naples.  For  this  reason  do  I  believe  it  the  most  dangerous. 
I  would  as  soon  live  upon  the  most  perilous  slope  of  Vesuvius 
as  among  this  people. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Voyage  to  Leghorn.  —  Leghorx.  —  Florence.  —  The  Uffizi.  —  Thb 
Tribune.  —  The  Venus  de  Medici.  —  The  Fornarina.  —  The  Pim 
Palace. —  Fiesolr. —  House  of  Michael  Angelo.  —  Dan::e's  Stone. 
—  The  Cascini.  —  Charles  Lever.  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning.  — 
UiRAM  Powers,  his  Studio.  —  Group  of  the  Niore.  —  The  Grand 
Duke.  —  The  Santa  Croce.  —  The  Medicean  Chapel.  —  Michael 
Angelo's  monumental  Groups.  —  Last  Drive  in  the  Cascini. — 
Adieu  to  Florence.  —  Journey  through  Tuscany.  —  Bologna 
Gallery'.  —  Ferraha.  —  Cathedral.  —  The  Castle.  —  Cells  of 
Ugo  and  Parisina.  —  Prison  of  Tasso.  —  House  of  Ariosto.  — 
An  Adventure  at  the  Custom  House.  —  Padua,  its  Clocks  and 
Sights. 

Florence,  JUay  19.. 
We  left  Naples  on  the  7th,  and  reached  Leghorn  on  the 
9th,  havin":  had  a  most  disa^freeable  and  uncomfortable  little 
voyage.  There  is  no  travelling  by  water  so  utterly  miserable 
to  me  as  that  on  the  Mediterranean  ;  as  I  have  always  found 
a  rough  sea.  in  which  the  clumsily-built  Italian  steamers  roll 
and  flounder  about  in  a  porpoise-like  way,  peculiarly  horrible. 
I  was  scarcely  able  to  keep  on  my  feet  live  minutes  while  our 
boat  was  under  way.  During  the  whole  of  the  second  day, 
liowever,  we  lay  by  at  Civita  Vecchia,  a  dull,  dirty,  unendura- 
ble place.  At  Leghorn  we  spent  several  hours  very  agreeably, 
driving  about  and  looking  about.  Not  that  there  are  any 
regular  sights  in  the  city ;  but  we  had  great  pleasure  in  its 
general  air  of  industry  and  prosperity. 

Leghorn  is  substantially  and  neatly  built,  and  has  a  more 
uniform  and  modern  appearance  than  any  continental  city  ' 

(352) 


A   TOUR   IN   EUROPE.  353 

know.  Its  streets  are  wide  and  admirably  paved,  and  it  haa 
several  handsome  squares  and  fine  public  buildings. 

We  went  from  Leghorn  to  Florence,  by  the  railway,  through 
Pisa.  At  the  station  we  were  not  a  little  amused  to  witness  a 
parting  between  an  elderly  Austrian  officer  —  a  hard,  scarred, 
ferocious-looking  soldier,  with  a  fierce,  gray  mustache  — 
and  half  a  dozen  young  subalterns.  The  group  smoked  and 
chatted  till  the  moment  of  parting,  when  the  old  officer 
tenderly  embraced  each  in  his  turn,  kissing  and  being  kissed 
on  both  cheeks  —  a  ludicrous  scene  to  Anglo-Saxon  eyes. 

The  railway,  which  is  a  very  good  one,  runs  through  a 
pleasant  country  cultivated  like  a  garden,  which  grows  more 
and  more  lovely  till  you  rea<:h  Florence.  The  station  is  near 
the  Cascini,  the  fashionable  drive  and  promenade  lying  just 
beyond  the  city  walls,  along  the  Arno ;  so  that  our  first  look- 
out was  upon  a  gay  and  beautiful  scene  —  those  noble  grounds 
thronged  with  equestrians,  and  predestrians,  and  elegant 
equipages.  From  that  moment,  I  have  been  charmed  with 
Florence  beyond  all  expectation  and  precedent.  Every  pic- 
turing of  fancy,  every  dream  of  romance,  has  been  met  and 
surpassed.  It  is  a  city  of  enchantment,  rich  in  incomparable 
pleasures  for  the  lover  of  poetiy  and  art.  In  merely  driving 
from  the  station  to  our  hotel,  on  the  Arno,  near  the  Ponte 
Vecchio,  I  was  struck  by  the  noble  style  of  architecture ; 
uniform  in  solidity,  and  in  a  sort  of  antique  solemnity,  yet  not 
monotonous,  gloomy,  or  curiously  quaint.  But  when  we  drove 
about  in  the  brightness  of  a  lovely  morning,  and  saw  the  grand 
and  ponderous  old  palaces,  the  noble  churches,  the  beautiful 
towers,  the  graceful  bridges,  —  when  we  caught,  at  almost 
every  turn,  natural  pictures  which  art  coul(^  never  a[)proach, — ■ 
I  could  only  express  by  broken  sentences  and  exclamations, 
childishly  repeated,  the  rare  and  glowing  pleasure  I  enjoyed. 

O  pictures  of  beauty,  0  visions  of  brightness,  how  must 
ye  fade  under  my  leaden  penci' !  It  is  strange,  but  I  never 
30* 


854  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 


• 


feel  so  poor  in  expression  as  wlien  my  very  soul  is  stafrnjering 
under  the  weight  of  new  treasures  of  tliought  and  feeling. 

One  of  our  first  visits  was  to  the  Royal  Gallery,  in  the 
Uffizi.  Through  several  rooms  and  corridors,  making  little 
pause  in  any,  we  passed  to  the  Tribune  —  for  its  size,  doubtless 
the  richest  room  in  the  world  in  great  works  of  art.  In 
the  centre  stands  the  Vt  nus  de  Medici,  "  the  wondrous  statue 
that  enchants  the  world,"  says  the  poet ;  but  as  for  me,  I  bow 
not  before  it  with  any  heartiness  of  adoration.  Exquisite, 
tender,  and  delicate  beyond  my  fairest  fancy,  I  found  the  form  ; 
graceful  to  the  last  point  of  perfection  seemed  to  me  the  atti- 
tude and  action  ;  but  the  smallness  and  the  insignificant  char- 
acter of  the  head,  and  the  simpering  senselessness  of  the  face, 
place  it  without  my  Olympus.  I  deny  its  divinity  in  toto,  and 
bear  my  offerings  to  other  shrines.  Yet  the  Venus  de  Medici 
does  not  strike  me  as  a  voluptuous  figure  ;  it  certainly  is  not 
powerfully  and  perilously  so,  wanting,  as  it  does,  all.  strength 
of  passion  and  noble  fulness  of  development,  all  soul\  for, 
paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  a  soul  of  wild  depths  and  pas- 
sionate intensity  must  lie  beneath  the  alluring  warmth  and 
brightness  of  a  refined  and  perfect  sensuality.  Of  another, 
and  a  far  more  dangerous  character,  I  should  say,  is  the  Venus 
of  Titian,  which  hangs, near  it.  Here  is  voluptuousness,  gor- 
geous, undisguised^  yet  subtle,  and  in  a  certain  sense  poetic 
and  refined.  She  is  neither  innocent  nor  unconscious,  yet  not 
bold,  nor  coarse,  nor  meretricious.  She  proudly  and  quietly 
revels  in  her  own  marvellous  beauties,  if  not  like  a  goddess 
who  knows  herself  every  inch  divine,  at  least  as  a  woman  by 
character  and  position  quite  as  free  irom  the  obligations  of 
morality  and  purity*  For  all  the  wonderful  beauty  of  this 
great  picture,  I  cannot  like  it,  cannot  even  tolerate  it ;  but, 
with  an  inexpressible  feeling  oi'  relief,  turn  from  it  to  the 
Bella  Donna  and  the  Flora  of  the  same  artist.  The  latter  is 
to  me  the  most  fascinating  and  delicious  picture  I  have  ever 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  855 

beheld ;  the  richness,  the  fuhiess,  the  golden  splendor  of  its  beau- 
ty flood  my  soul  with  a  strange  and  passionate  delight.  There 
is  no  high  peculiar  sentiment  about  it,  though  it  is  grand  in  its 
pure  simplicity ;  yet  its  soft,  sunny,  luxurious  loveliness  alone 
brings  tears  to  my  eyes  —  tears  vvliich  I  dash  away  jealously, 
lest  they  hide  for  one  instant  the  transcendent  vision. 

In  tlie  Tribune  are  several  of  the  finest  paintings  of 
Raphael  —  the  Fornarina,  a  rich,  glowing  picture,  but  a  face  I 
cannot  like ;  the  young  St.  John,  a  glorious  figure ;  and  the 
Madonna  del  Cardelliiio,  one  of  the  loveliest  of  ^his  holy 
families.  There  are  also  a  great  picture  by  Andrea  del  Sarto, 
\Nhich  impressed  me  much ;  the  Adoration  of  the  Magi, 
by  Albert  Durer,  the  heads  full  of  a  simple  grandeur  peculiar 
to  that  noble  artist ;  and  an  exquisite  little  Virgin  and  Child, 
by  Correggio,  In  another  room,  after  looking  at  a  bewilder- 
ing number  of  pictures,  most  of  which  have  already  passed 
from  my  mind,  I  came  upon  a  head  of  Medusa,  by  Leonardo 
da  Vinci,  which  I  fear  will  haunt  me  to  my  dying  day.  It  is 
surely  the  most  terrible  painting  I  ever  beheld. 

In  the  magnificent  Pitti  palace,  among  many  glorious 
pictures,  I  saw  two  before  which  my  heart  bowed  in  most 
loving  adoration  —  the  Madonna  della  Seggiola  of  Raphael, 
and  a  Virgin  and  Child  of  Murillo.  The  former  is  surely  the 
sweetest  group  by  the  divine  painter;  and  the  last,  if  not  of  a 
very  elevated  character,  pure  and  t<.'nder,  and  surpassingly 
lovely.  In  this  gallery  are  Titian's  Bella  Donna,  Magdalene, 
and  Marriage  of  St.  Catharine.  The  first  of  these,  which  is 
a  portrait,  seems  to  me  far  the  finest.  The  more  I  see  of 
them,  the  more  am  I  impressed  with  the  conviction  that  there 
is  nothing  in  all  his  grand  and^varied  works  displaying  such 
profound  and  preeminent  genius,  such  subtle,  masterly,  mirac- 
ulous power,  as  the  portraits  of  Titian. 

In  this  palace  we  saw  Canova's  Venus,  which  I  liked  no 
better  than  I  expected.    There  is  about  ^he  head,  attitude,  and 


356  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

figure,  an  atfected,  fine-ladyish  air,  dainty,  and  conscious,  anii 
passionless,  which  is  worse  than  the  absolute  voluptuousness 
which  w^ould  be  in  character  at  least  with  the  earthly  Venus. 
I  am  more  and  more  convinced  that  there  is  in  sculpture  but 
one  divine  mother  of  pure  Love  —  the  grand  and  majestic 
Venus  of  Milo. 

To-day  we  have' driven  out  to  Fiesole,  and  seen  the  massive 
walls  of  the  ancient  Etruscan  city.  These  ramparts,  which 
are  called  "  Cyclopean  constructions,"  are  said  to  be  at  least 
three  thousand  years  old,  and  yet  look  as  though  they  might 
endure  to  the  end  of  time.  From  a  hill  above  the  town,  we 
had  a  large  and  lovely  view  of  the  beautiful  valley  of  the 
Arno,  and  looked  down  upon  Florence,  lapped  in  its  midst, 
small,  compact,  yet  beautiful  and  stately.  I  never  beheld  a 
more  enchanting  picture  than  the  broad  and  bright  one  there 
spread  bfifore  me  :  tbe  blue  mountains,  the  gleaming  river,  the 
green  and  smiling  valley ;  hills  covered  with  olives  and 
myrtles  ;  roads  winding  between  hedges  of  roses  to  innumera- 
ble villas,  nestled  in  flowery  nooks,  or  crowning  breezy  heights. 
O,  this  was  no  enchantment  of  fairyland,  no  dream  of  poetry ; 
it  was,  in  very  truth,  a  paradise  on  earth. 

On  our  return,  we  visited  the  house  of  Michael  Angelo, 
which  is  reverently  kept  by  his  descendants,  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible, in  the  same  state  in  which  he  left  it.  It  is  a  handsome, 
quaint  old  house,  quiet,  shadowy,  and  somewhat  sombre,  still 
pervaded  with  the  awe-inspiring  atmosphere  of  the  colossal 
genius  of  that  Titanic  artist. 

As  I  stood  in  his  studio,  or  in  the  little  cabinet  where  he 
used  to  write,  and  saw  before  me  the  many  objects  once  familiar 
to  his  eye  and  hand,  1  felt  that  it  was  but  yesterday  that  he 
was  borne  forth  from  his  beloved  home,  and  that  it  was  the  first 
funereal  stillness  and  sadness  which  pervaded  it  now. 

We  afterwards  drove  to  "  Dante's  stone,"  a  slab  of  marble 
by  the  side  of  the  way,  on  which  he  used  to  sit  in  the  long 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  357 

Buniiner  evenings,  rapt  in  mournful  meditations,  and  dreaming 
his  immortal  dreams.  It  is  now  as  sacred  to  his  memory  as 
the  stone  above  his  grave. 

For  the  two  past  afternoons  we  have  driven  in  the  Cascini 
—  by  far  the  most  delightful  drive  and  place  of  reunion  I  have 
ever  seen.  It  is  much  smaller,  and  of  course  less  magnificent, 
than  Hyde  Park,  but  pleasanter,  I  think,  in  having  portions 
more  sheltered,  wild,  and  quiet  for  riders  and  promenaders. 
In  the  centre  of  the  grounds,  opposite  the  Grand  Duke's  farm 
house,  is  an  open  space  where  the  band  is  stationed,  and  the 
carriages  come  together  to  exchange  compliments  and  to  hear 
the  music.  Here  are  always  to  be  seen  many  splended  turn- 
outs, open  carriages  filled  with  elegantly-dressed  ladies  — 
gallant  officers  and  gay  dames  on  horseback  —  flower  girls, 
bearing  about  the  most  delicious  lilies  and  roses,  pinks  and 
lilacs,  mignonette  and  heliotrope,  freighting  the  golden  even- 
ing air  with  their  intoxicating  fragrance,  and  amazing  you 
with  their  paradisean  profusion  —  altogether  a  cheering  and 
charming  scene,  colored   and  animated  by  the  very  soul  of 

« 

innocent  pleasure. 

This  afternoon  we  met  Charles  Lever,  riding  with  his  wife 
and  two  daughters.  They  are  all  fine  riders,  were  well 
mounted,  and  looked  a  very  happy  family  party.  Mr.  Lever 
is  much  such  a  man  as  you  would  look  to  see  in  the  author  of 
Charles  O'Malley  —  hale  and  hearty,  careless,  merry,  and  a 
little  dashing  in  his  air. 

This  evening  I  have  spent  with  the  Brownings,  to  whom  I 
brought  letters.  They  live  in  that  Casa  Guidi  whicli  Mrs. 
Browning  has  already  immortalized  by  the  grandest  poem  ever 
penned  by  woman.  And  now,  how  can  I  fittingly  speak  of  the 
two  noble  poet-souls,  whose  union  is  a  poem,  profounder  and 
diviner  than  words  can  compass,  and  of  their  home,  doubly 
sanctified  by  gmius  and  love?  Admitted  for  a  few  happy 
hours  into  this  heaven  of  high  thought  and  pure  affections,  I 


858  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

am  sorely  tempted  to  leave  the  door  ajar,  and  so  let  out  upon 
others  some  of  the  light  and  music.  Robert  and  Elizabeth 
Browning  are,  as  the  truly  great  and  good  ever  are,  simple, 
earnest,  frank,  and  kindly  in  word  and  manner.  An  hour's 
conversation  with  them  gives  you  the  feeling  of  years  of  pleas- 
ant acquaintance.  With  all  my  reverence  for  their  genius, 
a  reverence  in  which  I  yield  to  none,  I  was  speedily  at  home 
and  at  rest  with  them.  I  felt  that  they  did  not  regard  me 
coldly  from  the  heights  of  that  genius,  but  met  me  cordially  on 
tlie  level  of  the  heart ;  and  I  was  content.  Nothing  can  be 
more  touching  and  heavenly  beautiful  than  the  serene  pres- 
ence of  quiet  happiness  which  pervades  this  household.  The 
very  soul  of  contentment  glows  in  the  fine  face  of  Browning, 
and  rests  on  the  calm  brow  of  his  wife,  and  smiles  up  from  the 
profound  depths  of  her  eyes.  But  I  should  pause  here  :  J 
feel  guilty  of  a  sort  of  sacrilege  in  having  said  so  much.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Browning  have  taken  up  tlieir  residence  in  Florence), 
a  place  in  every  way  congenial  to  them.  I  know  that  thou- 
sands of  her  unknown  friends  across  the  great  water  will 
rejoice  to  hear  that  the  health  of  Mrs.  Browning  improves 
with  every  year  spent  in  Italy.  Yet  she  is  still  very  delicate 
- —  but  a  frail  flower,  ceaselessly  requiring  all  the  sheltering 
and  fostering  care,  all  the  wealth  and  watchfulness  of  lOve, 
wliich  is  round  about  her. 

I  have  visited  the  studio  of  Powers,  and  been  much  inter- 
ested by  some  of  his  late  works  and  by  those  on  which  he  is 
at  present  engaged.  The  finest  seems  to  me  his  statue  of 
America  —  a  figure  of  much  beauty,  force,  and  grandeur, 
which,  with  its  companion,  California,  I  hope  yet  to  see 
adorning  the  Capitol  at  Washington.  Mr.  Powers  has  also 
several  idenl  busts,  which  are  new  to  me  —  all  exceedingly 
beautiful.  Of  these,  a  Psyche  will,  I  think,  shine  apart  and 
fah'est  in  my  memory,  as  most  poetically  conceived  and  ex- 
quisitely wrought.     The  statue  of  Washington,  for  the  State 


A   TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  359 

tjf  Louisiana,  is  a  work  of  much  beaut j» and  dignity.  The 
pater  patrice  is  represented  in  his  citizen's  dress,  standing  in 
an  attitude  of  calmest  thought,  leaning  lightly  on  the  emblem 
of  Union,  and  holding  in  his  left  hand  the  Farewell  Address. 
It  is  a  statue  remarkable  for  quiet  strength  and  a  noble  sim- 
plicity—  a  just  and  honest  rendering  of  the  character  of  our 
Washington. 

I  count  it  as  among  the  happiest  incidents  of  my  year  of 
foreign  travel  to  have  met  and  known  Mr.  Powers.  It  has 
given  me  peculiar  pleasure  to  find  him  retaining  all  the  fresh- 
ness and  naturalness,  all  the  chivalrous,  liberty-loving  spirit, 
of  a  true  son  of  the  free,  broad  west. 

Ma  y  15. 

Yesterday  I  saw,  for  the  first  time,  the  grand,  antique  group 
of  Niobe  and  her  children.  Of  these  wonderful  figures,  by  far 
the  most  noble  and  pathetic  are  those  of  the  mother  and  the 
young  daughter  she  is  seeking  to  shield.  O,  the  proud  anguish, 
the  wild,  hopeless,  maternal  agony,  of  that  face  haunts  me,  and 
will  haunt  me  forever. 

I  afterwards  saw  the  Mercury  of  John  of  Bologna  —  a 
marvel  of  beauty,  grace,  and  lightness.  We  visited  the  treas- 
ure room  of  the  Pitti  palace,  and  saw  all  the  Grand  Duke's 
plate,  among  which  are  several  magnificent  articles  by  Ben- 
venuto  Cellini.  In  the  evemng  we  drove  in  the  Cascini,  and 
to  the  Hill  of  Bellosguardo,  from  whence  we  had  an  enchant- 
ing view  of  Florence  and  the  Val  d'Arno  —  and  so  the  day 
ended.  To-day  we  have  made  the  tour  of  the  churches.  In 
the  solemn  old  cathedral,  whose  wonderful  dome  was  the 
admiration  and  study  ot"  Michael  Angelo,  there  were  extraor- 
dinary rtdigious  ceremonies,  on  the  occasion  of  some  great 
festa.  Some  archbishop  or  other  officiated  in  very  gorgeous 
robes,  of  course  —  in  capital  condition,  and  looking  indolent, 
proud,  and  stupid,  as  another  matter  of  course.  The  court 
came  in  great  state  and  pomp,  with  much   trumpeting  and 


860  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS    OP 

beating  of  the  drum.  The  Grand  Duke  was  accompanied  bjr 
the  Grand  Duchess  and  his  household,  by  the  Guardia  Nobile, 
and  by  numerous  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  high  rank,  all  in  full 
dress.  Those  ball  costumes  of  the  courtly  dames  — «-  gay  silks 
and  lace,  diamonds,  flowers,  and  plumes — looked  strange 
enough  after  the  uniform  and  decent  sombreness  of  the  dresa 
prescribed  for  the  "  functions  "  at  St.  Peter's. 

The  Grand  Duke  is  a  man  of  ordinary  size,  and  appears  not 
far  from  seventy  years  of  age,  though  it  is  said  he  is  hardly 
sixty.  His  hair  and  mustaches  are  nearly  white,  and  he  wears 
the  white  coat  of  the  Austrian  uniform,  and  so  looks  more 
miller-like  than  majestic.  There  was  a  sort  of  sullen  sadness 
in  his  air,  which  I  confess  I  was  rather  gratified  to  remark  — 
remembering  all  the  treachery  of  the  past,  and  beholding  all 
the  degradation  of  the  present.  The  Grand  Duchess  is  a  dig- 
nified-looking woman  enough,  but  the  ladies  in  atterdance  ^n 
her  to-day  dazzled  alone  with  their  diamonds. 

After  hearing  some  fine  music,  we  w-ent  to  the  Santa  Croce. 
trie  Westminster  Abbey  of  Florence,  where  are  the  tombs  of 
its  most  illustrious  dead.  Of  these  the  noblest  is  that  of 
Michael  Angelo,  and  the  poorest,  yet  more  pretentious,  that 
of  Dante.  Canova  has  here  a  monument  to  Alfieri,  which  is 
affected  and  sentimental,  like  nearly  all  his  works ;  and  the 
tombs  of  Galileo  and  Machiavelli  are  any  thing  but  pleasing 
and  imposing.  Infinitely  better  were  the  most  simple  slabs 
than  such  pompous  piles. 

At  the  San  Lorenzo  we  saw  that  marvellous  mausoleum, 
the  Medicean  Chapel  —  the  richest  yet  plainest  structure  of 
the  kind  in  the  world.  There  is  here  a  peculiar  assumption 
and  ostentation  of  simplicity  —  your  eye,  accustomed  to  the 
crowded  ornament  and  vivid  gorgeousness  of  ordinary  princely 
chapels,  is  shocked  and  cheated  at  tlie  first  glance  by  the  som- 
bre magnificence,  the  sumptuous  bareness,  of  this  singular 
structure ;  but  right  soon  is  disappointment  changed  to  admi- 


A    TOL'K    IN    EUROPE.  361 

ration  and  amazement,  as  you  see  that  all  those  lofty  walls, 
from  floor  to  roof,  are  composed  of  the  most  rare  and  beautiful 
marbles  and  precious  stones,  wrought  into  exquisite  mosaics. 
Then  you  see  the  stupendous  yet  beautiful  cenotaphs,  and  the 
solemn,  dark  statues  of  the  Medici,  and,  at  length,  fully  realize 
all  their  royal  waste  of  wealth  over  this  mausoleum,  all  their 
princely  pomp  of  death. 

In  the  Sagrestia  Nuova,  built  by  Michael  Angelo,  are  the 
statues  of  Lorenzo  and  Julian  de  Medici,  with  their  attendant 
groups,  the  Morn  and  Night,  Evening  and  Day,  and  the  Virgin 
and  Child  —  surely  the  noblest  works  of  that  mighty  artist.  I 
instinctively  bowed  in  awe  before  the  gloomy  grandeur  of  Lo- 
renzo :  and  there  was  something  in  his  still  frown  which  shook 
my  soul  more  tlian  the  warlike  air  and  almost  startling  action 
of  Julian.  The  unfinished  group  of  the  Virgin  and  Child  has 
much  tenderness  and  sweetness  with  all  its  force  and  grandeur; 
but,  as  a  general  thing,  I  must  think  that  Michael  Angelo'a 
female  figures  are  far  more  remarkable  for  gigantic  proportions 
and  muscular  development  than  for  grace,  beauty,  or  any  fine 
spiritual  character  This  Virgin  is  majestic  almost  to  sublim- 
ity, yet  truly  gentle,  lovable,  divinely  maternal. 

In  what  was  the  refectory  of  an  old  monastery,  but  which 
was  afterwards  used  as  a  carriage  house,  has  been  found 
within  a  few  years  past,  a  noble  fresco  by  Raphael  —  a  hast 
Supper.  This  we  went  to  see,  and  I  felt  it  to  be  one  of  the 
purest  and  most  touching  creations  of  that  angelic  painter. 
In  this  picture,  the  "  beloved  disciple  "  seems  to  have  fallen 
asleep  on  the  breast  of  the  Master,  and  to  have  bowed  his 
head  lower  and  lower,  till  it  lies  upon  the  table,  while  the 
hand  of  Jesus  is  laid  caressingly  on  his  shoulder.  There  is 
something  so  exquisitely  sweet  and  sad,  so  divinely  pitiful,  yet 
humanely  tender,  in  the  action,  that  the  very  memory  of  it 
blinds  my  eyes  with  tears. 

After  dinner  we  drove  in  the  Cascini,  where  we  met  all  V  \ 


3G2  11  APS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

world.  Aj  it  was  an  exceedingly  beautiful  sunset,  and  the 
evening  of  a  festa,  the  band  continued  to  play,  and  the  bril- 
liant crowd  remained  long.  I  revelled  in  the  delicious  air  and 
the  cheerful  scene  as  fully  as  was  possible,  with  the  intrusive 
consciousness  that  I  was  breathing  the  one,  and  beholding  the 
other,  for  the   last  time  —  probably  for  ever  —  certainly  for 

many  years.    Mrs.  H and  I  here  took  leave  of  a  brace  of 

charming  young  nobles,  in  whom,  I  fear,  we  had  become  too 
deeply  interested.  These  were  two  beautiful  Russian  boys, 
brothers,  of  the  ages  of  nine  and  seven,  with  whom  we  voyaged 
on  the  Mediterranean,  and  formed  an  acquaintance  which  has 
been  continued  in  Florence.  In  all  my  life  I  never  saw  such 
enchanting  little  fellows  —  simple,  natural,  frank,  and  free,  yet 
perfect  gentlemen  in  air  and  expression,  displaying,  with 
the  utmost  ease,  grace  and  polish  of  manner,  tact,  wit,  and  sa- 
voir  /aire  truly  astonishing.  They  always  came  to  our  car- 
riage at  the  Cascini,  and,  lounging  on  the  steps,  chatted  to  us 
in  French  between  the  pieces  of  music.  To-night,  as  the 
youngest  was  describing  to  me,  very  graphically,  the  difierent 
countries  through  which  he  had  travelled  and  the  cities  which 
he  had  visited,  I  advised  him  to  go  n^ext  to  England,  and  as- 
sured him  that  he  would  be  greatly  interested  and  amused  by 
the  sights  and  pleasures  of  London.  With  the  slightest  pos" 
sible  shrug,  he  replied,  "  Qui,  madanie,  c'est  une  grande 
ville,  sans  doute  ;  7nais  pour  tons  les  amusements  il  ii^ y  a  quhme 
ville  dans  le  monde  —  c'est  Paris.^^ 

The  very  last  look  I  had  of  these  infant  elegants,  we  were 
driving  by  them  on  leaving  the  grounds,  and,  as  we  passed, 
one  of  them  kissed  a  rosebud  and  flung  it  to  me,  with  a 
laughing '*^o?fZ/o."  Of  course,  I  pressed  it  to  my  heart,  and 
treasured  it  up.  Addio,  0  beautiful  boys  !  Will  ye  suffer  a 
world  change  into  something  hard  and  strange?  —  I  wonder. 
Will  your  charming  faces  grow  cold  and  harsh  ?  will  your 
soft,  brown  curls  stiffen  and  blacken  ?  will  you  clang  in  sworda 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  363 

and  jingle  in  spurs?  will  you  swear  rough  oaths,  and  trail 
long  mustaches,  and  smoke  villanous  pipes  in  northern 
camps?  or  will  you  flutter  ab'out  courts,  and  set  your  affec- 
tions on  ballet  dancers,  and  play  at  rouge  et  noir,  and  grow 
heartless  and  blase  ?  I  hope  not,  with  all  my  soul ;  and  yet 
that  speech  about  Paris  was  that  of  a  precocious  pleasure 
lover.  Well,  Heaven  bless  the  lads !  I  shall  never  see  them 
again,  and  more's  the  pity. 

Bologna,  May  17. 

We  left  Florence  yesterday  morning,  amid  some  clouds  and 
a  heavy  atmosphere ;  but  soon  drove  into  sunshine  and  sweet 
airs,  which  were  waiting  us  on  the  pleasant  hills. 

As  I  looked  back  upon  Florence  for  the  last  time,  when  I 
could  distinguish  only  the  battlemented  Palazzo  Vecchio, 
with  its  fine  old  tower,  and  that  incomparable,  group,  the 
Duomo,  the  Campanile,  and  the  Baptistery,  and  a  slender, 
shining  line,  which  I  knew  for  the  Arno,  I  suddenly  felt  my 
sight  struggling  through  tears  —  real  hearty  tears.  Ah,  Bella 
Firenze,  I  went  from  you  reluctantly,  almost  rebelliously.  I 
grieved  to  leave  those  glorious  galleries,  through  which  I 
seemed  to  have  merely  run ;  I  grieved  to  leave  the  Cascini, 
with  its  delicious  drives  and  walks,  its  music  and  gayety  ;  but  I 
"  sorrowed  most  of  all "  at  parting,  so  soon,  with  my  friends 
the  Brownings.  My  friends,  how  rich  I  feel  in  being  able  to 
write  these  words ! 

I  think  I  must  venture  to  say  a  little  more  of  them,  as,  after 
writing  of  my  first  evening  at  Casa  Guidi,  I  was  so  happy  as 
to  enjoy  much  of  their  society.  Robert  Browning  is  a  bril- 
liant talker,  and  more  —  a  pleasant,  suggestive  conversationist, 
and  a  sympathetic  listener.  He  has  a  fine  humor,  a  keen 
sense  of  the  ridiculous,  which  he  indulges,  at  times,  with  the 
hearty  abandon  of  a  boy.  In  the  gentle  stream  of  Elizabeth 
Browning's  familiar  talk  shine  deep  and  soft  the  high  thoights 
and  star-bright  imaginations  of  lier  rare  poetic  nature.     'I'ho 


564  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

two  have  oneness  of  spirit,  with  distinct  individuality ;  thej 
are  mated,  not  merged  together. 

In  the  atmosphere  of  so  much  learning  and  genius,  you  nat- 
urally expect  to  perceive  some  mustiness  of  old  folios,  some 
imcomfortable  brooding  of  solemn  thought ;  to  feel  about  you 
somewhat  of  the  stretch  and  struggle  of  grand  aspiration  and 
noble  effort,  or  the  exhausted  stillness  of  a  brief  suspension 
of  the  "  toil  divine."  But  in  this  household  all  is  simple, 
cheerful,  and  reposeful ;  here  is  neither  lore  nor  logic  to  appall 
one ;  here  is  not  enough  din  of  mental  machinery  to  drown 
the  faintest  heart  throb ;  here  one  breathes  freely,  acts  nat- 
urally, and  speaks  honestly. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning  give  me  some  hope  that  they  may 
yet  visit  America,  in  whose  republican  institutions  they  have 
a  deep  and  sympathetic  interest.  Their  child,  a  boy  of  four 
years,  is  a  beautiful  little  fellow  —  healthful  and  childlike,  but 
of  a  delicate  and  fine  poetical  organization.  He  already 
shows  remarkable  talent  for  drawing  and  poetry.  But  I  must 
leave  them  all ;  and  now,  indeed,  good  by  to  Florence. 

Our  journey  through  smiling  Tuscany,  and  over  the  moun- 
tains, treated  us  to  much  cliarming  scenery,  and  was  peculiarly 
pleasant,  for  the  fine  cultivation  of  the  country  along  the 
route,  the  apparent  industry  and  comfortable  condition  of  the 
inhabitants.  Last  night  we  spent  at  some  inconsiderable  town 
whose  name  I  have  forgotten,  and  this  afternoon  we  reached  Bo- 
logna. This  is  a  quaint,  picturesque  old  city,  peculiar  for  hav- 
ing all  its  principal  streets  built  with  uninterrupted  lines  of  ar- 
cades —  agreeably  suggestive  of  shade  in  hot,  and  shelter  in 
rainy  weather  ;  and  for  its  two  tall  leaning  towers,  and  for  a  col- 
onnade, three  miles  long,  leading  to  a  stately  church,  on  a  little 
hill,  outside  the  walls. 

There  is  a  tine  picture  gallery  here,  particularly  rich  in 
Guidos  and  Domenichinos,  to  which  we  have  paid  a  brief, 
UmhiYiz'mg  visit.     Here  is  the  famous  St.  Cecilia  of  Raphael 


A   TOUR   IN    EUnOPE.  366 

a  lovely  picture,  breathing  more  of  the  holy  ecstasy  of  music 
than  any  thing  I  have  ever  beheld.  But  the  grandest  picture 
in  this  collection,  and,  I  am  sute,  one  of  the  grandest  in  the 
world,  is  the  Madonna  della  Pieta  of  Guido.  It  represents 
the  mother  of  Christ,  with  two  angels,  mourning  over  the 
body  of  the  Savior. 

The  angels  are,  indeed,  heavenly  beautiful.  The  dead  Christ 
is  painted  with  great  feeling  and  power,  and  the  group  of 
saints  below  is  an  assemblage  of  noble  heads.  But  all  fade 
before  the  majestic. figure  of  the  Madonna  and  the  lonely  sub- 
limity of  her  sorrow. 

In  looking  on  this,  and  remembering  the  Niobe,  I  felt  the 
vast  distance  between  the  heathen  and  the  Christian  grief. 
Here  was  no  half-despairing,  half  defiant  throwing  up  of  a 
wild  face  to  the  ireful  heavens,  but  the  slow  and  solemn  uplift 
of  a  head  but  just  bowed  by  the  mightiest  human  sorrow,  and 
now  about  to  receive  the  crown  of  a  divine  resignation. 

Ferrara,  May  18. 
We  reached  this  desolate  city  early  this  afternoon,  and  have 
seen  all  the  principal  sights.  We  first  visited  the  Cathedral, 
which  has  a  quaint  and  venerable  outside,  and  contains  some 
tolerable  pictures  and  figures  in  bronze.  From  thence  we 
went  to  the  damp  and  gloomy  Church  of  San  Francisco, 
where  we  found  one  delicious  picture  by  Benvenuto,  and  where 
we  were  shown  the  tomb  of  Parisina  ;  and  then  we  went  to  the 
grim  old  castle,  the  scene  of  the  dark  crime  and  fearful 
tragedy  with  which  her  name  is  forever  connected.  A  gloomy, 
ghostly,  wicked-looking  castle  it  is,  in  which  glaring,  modern 
frescoes  strive  in  vain  to  lay  the  murderous  old  memories,  and 
new  windows  and  hangings  to  banish  the  death  damp  and 
darkness,  and  the  smell  of  decay  and  blood.  It  is  occupied  as 
a  palace  by  the  Pope's  legate,  and  there  are  soldiers  scat- 
tered here  and  there  through  its  dreary  courts  and  vast  cham« 
31* 


566  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

bers ;  but  it  has  every  where  an  abandoned,  a  haunted,  an 
accursed  air.  The  still  and  slimy  water  in  the  great  moat 
seems  to  have  died  and  gone  to  corruption  years  ago;  and  its 
noisome  exhalations  come  stealing  into  the  dunsjeons,  far  back 
under  the  castle,  and  poison  the  already  deadly  atmosphere. 
An  awful  place  is  the  dungeon  of  Ugo  —  low,  damp,  stifling, 
and  lit  only  by  a  small  aperture,  separated  from  the  outer 
light  by  live  massive  gratings.  The  cell  of  Parisina  is  not 
quite  so  dreadful ;  but  dismal  enough,  Heaven  knows.  We  saw 
also  the  prison  of  Tasso,  where,  according  to  the  inscription, 
he  was  confined  more  than  seven  years.  The  cell  is  fearfully 
dark  and  dreary,  and  you  shudder  with  horror  at  the  thought 
that  he  whose  divine  genius  had  the  range  of  the  universe 
should  here  have  been  caged  like  a  wild  beast,  till  that  great 
heart  moped  in  melancholy  madness,  and  that  grand  spirit 
rent  itself  in  fierce  frenzy. 

From  this  prison  we  went  to  the  house  in  which  Ariosto 
lived  in  his  last  years  and  where  he  died.  The  pleasant 
room  in  which  he  used  to  write  remains  nearly  as  he 
left  it,  and  the  whole  house  has  an  antique  and  venerable  ap- 
pearance. 

There  is  a  public  gallery  of  paintings  in  one  of  the  palaces, 
where  there  are  several  tine  pictures,  but  the  light  this  after- 
noon was  not  favorable  for  seeing  them  well.  While  at  this 
gallery,  we  heard  the  funeral  chant  in  the  street,  and,  looking 
out,  saw  the  fraternity  for  burying  the  dead  bearing  past  a 
body  on  a  bier.  It  was  that  of  a  man,  young  and  handsome, 
who  must  have  died  suddenly,  for  the  face  was  unwasted,  and 
the  color  of  life  was  not  quite  stricken  from  the  cheeks  and 
hps.  As  he  lay  there,  wrapi)ed  in  a  gray  robe,  and  with 
his  sandalled  feet  exposed,  he  had  such  a  look  of  life,  that 
when  the  wind  lifted  his  dark  hair,  and  blew  it  over  his  face, 
I  half  expected  to  see  him  raise  his  hand  and  toss  it  batk 
from  his  eyes. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  367 

Ferrara  is  a  silent,  melancholy-looking  place,  which  I  fancy 
I  shall  turn  my  back  upon  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  and  never 
care  to  return  to. 

Padua,  May  19. 

Learned,  sombre  old  Padua  we  reached  to-night,  after  a 
rather  fatiguing  and  dusty  day,  showery  towards  the  close, 
and  rounded  at  the  last  by  a  splendid  sunset. 

Our  route  for  the  last  two  days  has  lain  through  a  country 
somewhat  monotonous,  but  with  the  beautiful  monotony  of  the 
richest  cultivation,  the  utmost  flowery  and  leafy  luxuriance. 
Much  of  the  way  has  run  through  long,  long  avenues  of  poplar, 
past  vast  level  tracks  of  meadow  land,  planted  with  olives,  and 
willows,  and  oaks,  festooned,  garlanded,  and  linked  together  with 
vines  —  past  broad  fields  of  grain,  wilh  rivers  of  scarlet  poppies 
flowing  through  them,  and  sometimes  a  little  blue  lake  of  flow- 
ering flax  imbpsomed  in  their  midst —  while  every  where  the 
roses  and  acacias  are  blooming  in  prodigious  profusion  Now 
and  then  we  come  upon  a  pond  white  with  water  lilies,  over 
which  the  birds  seem  to  hover  on  slow,  unsteady  wings,  as 
though  drunk  with  the  thick  ascending  perfume. 

It  is  tlie  height  of  the  season  for  bird  music.  When  in  the 
morning,  I  see  the  lark  winnowing  the  air  with  his  wild  pin- 
ions, and  seeming  to  mount  upward  on  the  swell  of  his  own 
song,  I  hear  the  jubilant  voice  of  Nature  in  his  strains,  and 
my  heart  beats  quicker  with  every  note.  He  has  the  day  to 
himself;  but  the  nightingale,  hidden  in  shade,  can  afford  to 
bide  her  time.  With  the  cominor  of  evenino;,  she  sets  all  the 
young  leaves  about  her  a-tremble  with  her  passionate  plaint, 
and  burdens  the  dewy  air  with  her  sweet,  vague,  and  melo- 
dious trouble.  Her  song  touches  the  most  exquisite  human 
susceptibilities,  and  the  soul  responds  to  it  with  sighs  of  rap- 
turous pain. 

This  is  the  poetry  of  the  journey  thus  far ;  now  for  the 
prose,  which  came,  unhappily  for  me,  in.  the  form  of  an  un 


368  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

looked-for  and  dii?agreeable  adventure.  I  have  fallen  "  into 
the  hands  of  the  Philistines  "  —  and  this  is  how  it  liappened. 
On  crossing  the  Po  into  the  Austrian  dominions,  our  baggage 
was  at  once  subjected  to  a  most  rigorous  examination.  I 
stood  by  while  my  trunk  was  being  rummaged,  quite  uncon- 
cerned, knowing  that  I  had  no  articles  subject  to  duty,  and  no 
papers  that  might  not  be  looked  into.  I  was  even  amused  at 
the  thorough  and  severe  manner  in  which  the  officer  performed 
his  duty.  He  inspected  my  bonnet  as  though  he  were  a  man 
milliner,  on  the  lookout  for  the  last  mode ;  he  pounced  upon  a 
workbox  as  though  it  were  a  mare's  nest,  tossing  about  the 
balls  of  cotton  as  though  they  were  the  eggs;  he  smelt  treason 
in  a  little  packet  of  perfumery,  and  sought  for  political  secrets 
in  a  bag  of  stockings.  But  when  he  came  to  my  papers,  — 
letters  of  introduction  and  home  letters,  —  what  a  work  the 
man  went  through  with  !  He  read  all  the  French  and  Italian, 
even  to  the  grammatical  exercises,  and  glanced,  with  a  baffled 
suspiciousness,  over  the  English.  He  unfolded  one  long  letter, 
spelled  out  a  word  or  two  at  random,  from  right  to  left,  as 
though  it  were  Chinese,  and  regarded  it  severely,  upside  down. 
At  last,  right  among  the  papers,  he  came  upon  something, 
the  only  thing  that  has  wrought  the  mischief —  a  little  poniard, 
which  I  have  used  for  some  years  past,  as  a  paper  cutter  and 
folder,  which  I  brought  abroad  by  mistake,  but  which  has  lain 
for  the  last  twelve  months  in  the  tray  of  my  trunk,  and  which 
has  been  seen  and  passed  by  divers  custom-house  officers. 
But  the  look  of  exultation  and  severity  on  the  face  of  this 
man  I  shall  never  forget.  The  absurdity  of  the  thing  struck 
me  at  first,  and  I  laughed,  which  I  suppose  did  not  mend  the 
matter.  However,  saying  only  that  it  was  not  permitted  to 
travellers  to  carry  arms,  he  took  the  knife,  and  I  supposed 
that  was  the  end  of  it.  But  no  !  I  was  presently  summoned 
to  Iiis  office,  when  he  questioned  me  politely,  but  very  closely, 
respecting  the  weapon.     Of  course,  I  told  him  the  simple  truth 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  369 

of  its  history  and  use,  which,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  he  did  not 
appear  to  credit.  He  evidently  believed  that  I  was  going  to 
Venice  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  bear  this  blunt,  broken- 
handled  paper  cutter  to  some  insurgent  leader,  who  only 
waited  for  it  to  head  a  rising.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  reminded 
him  that  it  had  lain  exposed  in  my  trunk,  one  of  the  first 
things  to  be  seen,  and  that,  had  I  cherished  any  unlawful  pur- 
pose, I  should  have  concealed  it,  or  carried  it  on  my  person  : 
he  was  quite  set  in  the  idea  that  I  was  some  dangerous  per- 
sonage. Yet  a  more  suave  and  agreeable  official  I  have  sel- 
dom met,  certainly  never  one  who  showed  such  a  flattering  in- 
terest in  me  and  my  affairs.  His  extreme  benevolence  stretched 
backward  into  the  past,  and  forward  a  considerable  distance 
into  the  future.  He  questioned  me  about  my  travels  and  my 
plans  —  and  though  his  interrogations  were  cleverly  varied 
and  repeated,  I,  of  course,  found  always  the  simple,  truthful 
answer  best  and  readiest.  He  spoke  in  Italian,  I  in  French, 
which  aroused  his  suspicion.  He  remarked  that  I  had  the 
face  of  an  Italian,  not  of  an  American,  and,  adding  that 
he  was  but  an  indifferent  French  scholar,  requested  that  I 
would  favor  Jiim  by  speaking  in  the  Italian.  I  replied  that, 
though  I  could  understand  him,  I  spoke  his  language  even 
more  indifferently  than  French,  and  so  begged  to  be  excused. 
He  insisted,  however,  till,  in  sheer  vexation,  I  broke  into  the 
Italian ;  and  I  think  I  convinced  him  there.  At  last,  conclud- 
ing that  this  was  an  affair  for  a  higher  tribunal,  he  sent  the 
poniard  and  my  passport  on  to  the  chief  of  the  police  at 
Rovigo  by  a  gendarme  who  accompanied  us. 

Arrived  at  Rovigo,  w^e  went  at  once  to  the  bureau  of  police. 
In  the  antechamber  I  passed  an  interesting  young  man,  with 
a  dark,  melancholy  face,  standing  between  two  gendarmes, 
with  his  arms  pinioned  —  a  sight  little  calculated  to  raise  my 
spirits  ;  but  no  further  examination  took  place.  My  passport 
was  given  me,  with  the  intimation  that  the  poniard  would  b« 


S70  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS    OF 

sent  to  the  chief  bureau  of  police  at  Venice,  where  I  might  call 
for  it  —  which  I  suppose  is  a  polite  invitation  to  me  to  "  go  up 
higher."  So  I  shall  proballj  be  handed  on,  from  bureau  to 
bureau,  till  I  reach  Milan,  where  I  expect  to  be  shot. 

Mem.  —  When  next  I  come  abroad,  to  leave  all  poniards 
at  home. 

May  20. 

I  found  that  I  had  been  more  annoyed  by  the  centre  temps 
of  yesterday  than  I  had  confessed  even  to  myself — for,  as  has 
been  the  case  under  any  unusual  excitement  ever  since  I  came 
to  Italy,  I  failed  to  get  one  wink  of  sleep  last  night,  and  this 
morning  I  am  in  a  curious  state  of  bewilderment  as  to  whether 
it  is  yesterday  or  tomorrow.  Padua  is  a  famous  place  lor 
striking  clocks,  and  last  night  I  heard  them  to  remarkable 
advantage.  They  are  curious  for  their  utter  want  of  unanim- 
ity—  not  sounding  together^  but  politely  waiting  upon  one 
another,  and  striking  at  respectful  distances.  There  was  one 
broken-spirited  old  clock  that  hung  back  some  ten  minutes, 
and  then  "  took  up  her  doleful  tale  "  —  suggesting  rather  than 
proclaiming  the  hour  in  the  most  timid  and  deprecating  tone 
imaginable.  And  there  was  one  regular  Ajaji  of  a  time- 
piece, whicl\  struck  sharp,  quick,  resounding  blows,  as  thoiigli 
knocking  down  the  iiours. 

We  first  visited  the  Chapel  of  Santa  Maria  dell'  Annunziata, 
full  of  frescoes  by  Giotto,  an  old,  old  painter.  Though  in  a 
\ery  quaint  style,  and  much  injured  by  time,  these  woiks 
are  exceedingly  fine,  containing  some  figures  of  marvellous 
strength  and  beauty,  and  divine  purity  of  expression.  Then 
ue  saw  the  Cathedral,  which  is  rich  in  rare  bronzes,  and  out- 
wardly of  a  curious,  mosque-like  character  ;  then  a  queer, 
vast  old  palace,  II  Palazzo  della  Ragione ;  and  then  that  most 
renowned  University,  and  the  statue,  on  the  tof  of  the  princi- 
pal staircase,  of  the  celebrated  Elena  Lucrezia  Carnaro  Pis- 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  371 

eopia,  who  received  a  professor's  degree  from  the  University 
—  was  an  astronomer,  a  mathematician,  a  Greek,  Hebrew, 
Latin,  Arabic,  Spanish,  and  French  scholar  —  a  musician,  a 
poetess,  and,  if  this  statue  is  true,  a  very  beautiful  woman. 
She  died  unmarried,  in  1684,  at  forty-eight  years  of  age. 
There  is  a  fine  pubhc  square  here,  surrounded  by  statues  of 
the  great  men  of  Padua  and  its  University  —  but  to  the  gen 
eral  traveller  it  is  a  place  of  little  beauty  or  intereut. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

▲rrttal  at  Venice.  —  The  gr\nd  Canal.  —  The  Sq"4.re  of  St. 
Mark,  the  Church.  —  Palace  of  the  Doges.  —  The  Dun- 
geons.—  Bridge  of  Sighs.  —  Academy  of  Fine  Arts. — Titian's 
GREAT  Works.  —  The  Churches  of  Venice.  —  Evening  in  the 
Piazza.  —  The  Manfrini  Palace.  — Byron's  Palace. — Venice 
BY  Moonlight. — The  Rialto. —  The  Arsenal.  —  The  Armeni- 
an Convent.  —  The  Gondola.  —  Festa  of  Corpus  Domine.  —  Hos- 
pital of  San  Servolo.  —  The  Civil  Hospital  and  Madhouse. 
—  Sequel  of  the  Adventure  of  Santa  Maria  Maddalena.  — 
Verona.  —  House  of  Juliet.  —  Milan.  —  Cathedral.  —  Chapel 
OF  San  Carlo. — The  Brera.  —  The  Biblioteca  Ambrosiana. — 
Lock    of    Lucrezia   Borgia's  Hair.  —  Theatre.  —  Condition    of 

Milan.  —  Air    of     the     People Austrian     and     Hungarian 

Troops.  —  Public  Drives  and  Promenades. 

Venice,  May  92. 

We  came  from  Padua,  by  railway,  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
20th.  Venice,  approached  by  this  route,  reminds  one  of  mar- 
vellous stories  of  mirage  —  as  it  seems  like  a  city  afloat. 
There  is  something  peculiarly  sad  and  lonely  in  the  sight,  for 
all  its  beauty  —  something  dream-like  and  mysterious.  Ar- 
rived at  the  station,  and  having  passed  the  Custom  House,  it 
was  curious  to  hear  the  cry  of  "  Gondola,  signor  ?  "  "  Barca, 
siynor  ?  "  instead  of  "  Cab,  sir?  "  "  Omnibus,  sir  ?  " 

But  to  find  yourself  in  one  of  those  dark,  strange-looking 
boats,  and  then  to  go  floating  down  the  grand  canal,  past  mag- 
nificent old  palaces,  the  like  of  which  you  never  any  where 
beheld  before ;  to  be  every  moment  meeting  and  passing 
those  graceful  gondolas,  stealing  silently  along,  all  in  black,  as 
though  in  mourning   for  the  dead  glory   of  Venice;  to  float 

(372) 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  373 

under  the  Rialto,  and  to  go  down  yet  farther  into  the  broad 
expanse  of  water  near  the  palace  of  St.  Mark's,  —  all  this  is  a 
rare  realization  of  one's  lifelong  dreams,  yet  seeming  more 
wild  and  unreal  and  marvellously  beautiful  than  any  dream. 
Our  hotel  is  an  old  palace,  not  far  from  St.  Mark's,  and 
having  a  broad  and  delightful  lookout  over  the  lagunes.  On 
our  first  evening,  we  w.ilked  round  to  the  Piazza  San  Marco 
—  of  all  I  have  ever  seen,  the  one  supreme  in  architectural 
b*;auty  and  magnificence. 

The  noble  Square  itself,  encompassed  with  old  palaces ; 
an  arcade  surrounding  it  on  three  sides,  full  of  gay  shops  and 
cafes  ;  the  tall  Campanile,  the  clock  tower ;  the  Church  of  San 
Marco ;  the  palace  of  the  Doges ;  the  two  columns  near  the 
sea,  one  bearing  the  winged  lion,  the  other  the  armed  saint  and 
the  crocodile,  —  all  form  a  picture,  grand,  majestic,  peculiar, 
and  surpassingly  beautiful.  There  was  moonlight  and  music ; 
there  were  gay  thi-ongs  of  people  filling  all  the  Square  ;  and 
yet  it  seemed  as  lone  and  melancholy  as  the  darkened  and 
deserted  old  palaces  on  the  grand  canal. 

There  were  dai'k  memories  lui-king  about  that  palace  of  the 
Doges,  which  no  moonlight  could  bani.-h  ;  and  solemn  whispers 
of  dread  secrets  !?eemed  stealing  through  its  rich,. open  galle- 
ries, which  no  gay  music  could  silence. 

The  style  of  these  buildings  is  more  fanciful  and  orientally 
luxuriant  than  I  had  expected  to  find  it.  About  the  palace 
there  are  such  fairy-like  galleries,  in  the  cathedral  such 
strange,  fantastic,  almost  grotesque  mingling  and  massing  of 
varied  forms,  —  domes,  and  points,  and  minarets,  and  arches, 
and  statues,  and  carvings,  and  mosaics,  and  all  so  light,  so 
graceful,  so  upspringing,  —  that  it  seems  like  a  very  frolic  of 
architecture ;  and  yet  the  whole  effect  is  by  no  means  want- 
ing in  a  splendid  stateliness  approaching  to  grandeur. 

Yesterday  we  visited  the  palace  of  the  Doges,  and  went  all 
.trough  it.  In  one  gorgeous,  great  chamber,  with  its  waili 
32  , 


374  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

and  ceiling  covered  with  rich  pictures  by  Tintoretto  and  Paul 
Veronese,  there  were  all  around,  beneath  the  cornice,  portraits 
of  all  the  doges  except  thai  of  Marino  Falerio,  whose  place 
is  filled  by  a  black  veil  and  an  epitaph.  We  afterwards  saw 
the  staircase  down  which  he  passed  to  execution,  and  the 
hall  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  where  he  was  condemned,  with 
the  lion's  mouth,  into  which  deadly  accusations  were  secretly 
dropped.  We  saw  many  pictures  illustrating  scenes  of  battle 
and  triumph  in  the  glorious  and  prosperous  times  of  the 
Venetian  republic.  These  are  immense  in  size,  ambitious, 
and  rather  confused  in  character. 

Then  we  went  down  the  golden  staircase  —  then  to  an  office 
below  the  palace,  where  we  took  torches  and  descended  into 
the  dungeons.  Dark,  dismal,  miserable  beyond  all  my  con- 
ceptions, I  found  them.  They  are  small  and  low,  and  it  is 
evident  were  only  lit  by  the  light  which  could  penetrate  to 
them  through  a  small  aperture  in  the  wall  from  a  lamp  hung 
in  the  corridor. 

They  never  could  have  been  visited  by  a  gleam  of  sun- 
shine, or  a  breath  of  fresh,  upper  air.  In  one  of  these  the 
young  Foscari,  driven  home,  at  all  hazards,  by  the  wild  yearn- 
ings of  a  heart  broken  by  exile,  spent  his  last  agonized  hours 

In  sevei'al  of  these  cells  the  prisoners  had  scratched  names 
and  inscriptions  with  the  points  of  nails  —  the  fearful  record 
of  long  despairing  years. 

We  also  saw  the  spot  where  the  condemned  were  strangled 
in  the  dead  of  night ;  and  the  low,  black  door  down  which  the 
bodies  were  borne  into  a  boat,  which  carried, them  away  to 
an  aocursed  spot  in  the  sea,  where  it  was  death  for  the  fisher- 
man to  cast  a  net.  Then  we  went  up  the  stairs,  and  turned 
off  into  a  narrow  gallery,  and  suddenly  stood  uj)on  the  Bridge 
of  Sighs.  I  believe  that  no  one  can  ever  stand  here  without 
an  involuntary  shudder,  a  creeping  horror ;  without  a  fearful, 
oppressed  breathing;  without  sighing  from  the  bottom  of  the 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  375 

heart.  It  is  very  short,  this  bridge  —  over  a  narrow  canal, 
a  brief  transit  fiom  tlie  prison  to  the  judgment  chamber.  It 
was  with  a  blessed  feeling  of  relief  that  I  found  myself  out 
of  these  haunted  old  places,  and  on  the  shining  water,  feeling 
my  shuddering  pulses  rocked  into  peace  by  the  dreamy,  luxu- 
rious gliding  of  the  gondola — forgettinir  the  prison  gloom  and 
closeness  in  the  soft  sunlight,  the  broad,  beautiful  views,  and 
the  delicious  air  about  me. 

"VYe  went  to  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  where  I  saw 
many  admirable  pictures  by  Tintoretto,  Paul  Veronese,  Bas- 
sano,  and  others.  But  all  seem  to  have  faded  from  my  mem- 
ory, as  though  shrivelled  up,  before  the  transcendent  glories  of 
Titian's  great  masterpieces  —  the  Presentation  at  the  Tem- 
ple, and  the  Assumjjtion  of  the  Virgin.  The  first  fills  me 
with  amazement  approaching  to  awe,  yet  with  a  delight  in- 
tense and  exquisite.  Of  this  picture,  and  that  of  the  Assump- 
tion, I  dare  not  attempt  the  slightest  description.  They  are 
large  and  full,  but  not  crowded  with  figures  ;  marvellou&ly 
displaying  the  power,  the  beauty,  the  depth,  and  the  univer- 
sality of  Titian's  genius.  Among  the  large  assemblage  of 
heads  in  the  Presentation,  there  is  not  one  wanting  in  force  and 
nobility.  Titian  sometimes  painted  hard  faces,  wicked  faces, 
but  never  a  mean  one.  All  his  heads  have  a  certain  grandeur, 
even  though  it  be  of  evil.  He  did  not  debase  his  pencil  by 
drawing  loathsome  and  revolting  forms,  to  represent  the  spirit 
of  darkness.  In  this  picture  there  is  an  old  egg  woman,  the 
very  queen  of  hags,  —  a  powerful  figure,  a  stern,  storm-beaten, 
passion-harrowed  face,  —  one  who  makes  you  shudder,  and  yet 
inspires  you  with  respect.  In  wondrous  contrast  with  this 
hard,  dark  figure,  is  that  of  the  young  virgin  —  the  sweetest, 
purest,  dearest,  most  delicious  little  creature  ever  beheld.  She 
is  a  simple,  innocent  child,  wearing  a  frock  of  delicate  blue, 
and  with  her  golden  hair  braided  on  her  shoulders.  She  holds 
up  her  frock  with  one  hand,  while  mounting  the  steps,  and 


576  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS     OF 

stretches  the  other  before  her  towards  the  high  priests,  who 
are  waiting  to  receive  her.  Simply  a  child,  yet  she  radiates 
divinity  from  every  line  of  her  tender  face,  from  eveiy  curve 
of  her  figure,  from  every  fold  of  her  celestial  robe.  The 
light  nimbus  that  trembles  about  her,  from  head  to  foot,  seems 
so  your  own  spiritual  recognition  of  her  purity,  you  are  half 
in  doubt  whether  it  is  really  in  the  painting  or  not.  The 
whole  face  and  attitude  of  the  mother,  at  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
express  a  more  than  maternal  dignity  and  joy,  a  sublime  pre- 
eicience  of  her  child's  election  to  the  divine  maternity  and  the 
worship  of  the  world. 

In  the  Assumption  you  contemplate  the  highest  rapture  and 
the  profoundest  devotion  of  the  saint;  in  it  the  gates  of 
heaven  seem  unclosed,  and  you  look  into  the  far  radiant 
depths  of  angelic  life  and  joy.  The  very  glory  of  God  seems 
descended  upon  it ;  and,  gazing  on  it  long,  you  feel  yourself 
drawn  upward  by  the  celestial  attraction. 

I  cannot  attempt  to  look  deeply  into  one  of  Titian's  works 
without  being  baffled,  abashed,  waved  back  by  a  feeling  of  al- 
most superstitious  awe.  I  cannot  get  rid  of  the  strange  im- 
pression that  he  painted,  somehow,  with  th5  very  elements  of 
creation ;  that  he  got  at  secrets  of  nature  utterly  unknown  to 
any  other  artist.  I  believe  he  was  the  Shakspeare  of  painters. 
We  also  saw  two  of  his  most  famous  pictures  in  the  Church 
of  St.  Maria  delle  Salute — St.  Mark,  with  four  other  Saints, 
and  the  Descent  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  face  of  the  young  St.  Sebastian,  in  the  first  of  these 
—  so  heart-breakingly  full  of  the  martyr's  agony  and  the 
saint's  resignation. 

The  churches  of  Venice  are  among  the  finest  in  the  world, 
as  is  well  known.  I  have  rare  pleasure  in  visiting  them,  for 
they  are  beautifully  clean,  and,  though  outwardly  somewhat 
overloaded  with  sculptures  and  ornaments,  inwardly  chaste  and 
elegant.     The  interior  of  St.  Mark's  is  rich  in  precious  mar 


A   TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  377 

bles,  and  completely  lined  with  old  mosaics.  It  is  a  curious, 
gorgeous,  quaint,  and  peculiar  place  —  a  strange  but  admirable 
blending  together  of  varied  styles,  wnli  the  By;5antine  and  the 
bizarre  predominating  — a  meeting  ground  of  many  artistic 
epochs  —  altogether,  a  unique  assemblage  of  architectural 
incongruities,  Christian  and  classic,  Greek,  Arabic,  and  na- 
tional, yet  the  whole  producing  a  wonderful  effect  of  fitness 
and  harmony.  In  a  chapel,  closed,  except  at  certain  hours, 
are  kept  the  treasures  of  St.  Mark  —  a  collection  formerly 
exceedingly  rare  and  rich,  and  now  containing  many  articles 
very  valuable  for  their  antiquity  and  beautiful  workmanship 
—  and  religious  relics,  precious  beyond*  price  to  the  true  be- 
liever. Among  these  last  is  a  scrap  of  the  robe  of  Jesus,  some 
of  the  earth  once  wet  with  his  blood,  and  a  fragment  of  the 
true  cross.  In  the  vestibule,  before  the  great  door,  you  see  in 
the  pavement  some  pieces  of  red  marble,  marking  the  spot 
where  Pope  Alexander  111.  placed  his  foot  on  the  neck  of 
Emperor  Frederic  Barbarossa. 

This  evening  we  ascended  the  Campanile,  and  had,  from  the 
summit,  a  grand  view  of  Venice,  the  islands,  the  far-away 
country,  and  the  sea.  This  wondrous  sea-born  city  has  a  mag- 
nificent but  somewhat  too  compact  and  crowded  an  appear- 
ance, looked  down  upon  from  this  point.  You  see  so  few 
open  spaces,  and  only  brief  gleams  of  the  canals. 

We  saw  the  sun  set  in  incomparable  splendor,  gilding  the 
snowy  Alps  till  their  icy  points  seemed  all  aflame.  We  saw 
the  moon  rise  over  the  lagunes.  It  was  immensely  large,  and 
at  first  seemed  like  a  great  globe  of  fire,  reddening  all  the 
clouds  around ;  then  it  changed  to  a  deep  golden  hue,  and 
seemed  like  the  gorgeous  bucintore  of  an  ancient  dose, 
coming  home  from  wedding  the  Adriatic  or  from  some  glori- 
ous conq  lest. 

After  lescending,  we  lingered  in  the  piazza  till  the  old 
Moors,  poor  slaves  of  time,  struck  the  hour  of  nine  on  the 
32* 


378  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

great  bell  of  the  clock  tower ;  then  I  walked  hotelward,  for  I 
was  not  well,  and  the  air  here  is  rather  damp  and  chillj  — 
otherwise  I  should  have  chosen  to  remain  till  midnight  in  that 
enchanted  square.  Here  you  see  most  varieties  of  national 
costumes  and  characters:  hosts  of  voluble  French,  heavy- 
bearded  Americans,  and  clean-shaven  English — white-coated 
Austrian  officers,  solemn  Turks,  and  stately  Greeks  —  and 
almost  every  step  you  encounter  fine  types  of  Venetian  beauty 
—  proud  and  sumptuous,  yet  somewhat  too  indolent  and  cold. 
Among  the  handsomest  of  the  women  are  some  of  the 
flower  girls  and  water  carriers,  each  class  wearing  a  strik- 
ing and  picturesque  costume. 

May  23. 

To-day  we  have  visited  the  Manfrini  palace,  whose  gallery 
of  pictures  is  so  much  praised  by  Byron.  It  is  certainly  very 
fine,  though  not  quite  what  I  expected.  For  the  first  time,  I 
was  disappointed  in  a  work  of  Titian's.  The  Descent  from  the 
Cross,  though  very  powerful,  falls  far  behind,  it  seems  to  me, 
in  beauty  of  coloring  and  grandeur  of  character,  his  great 
pictures  at  the  Academy.  But  his  portrait  of  Ariosto  is  some- 
thing marvellous  in  both  strength  and  beauty,  in  breadth,  and 
depth,  and  individuality  of  character.  The  very  soul  of  the 
poet  strikes  upon  you  from  the  canvas,  and  you  feel  mastered 
by  his  genius,  not  that  of  the  painter. 

There  is  also  in  this  collection  Titian's  celebrated  portrait 
of  Queen  Cornaro  —  a  handsome  woman,  gorgeously  dressed, 
but,  on  the  whole,  not  pleasant  to  contemplate.  From  this 
gallery  we  went  to  that  one  of  the  three  palaces  of  the  family 
Macenigo  which  Byron  inhabited  for  the  greater  part  of  his 
stay  in  Venice.  His  apartments  are  preserved  very  much  as 
he  left  them,  except  that  the  bed  has  been  removed  from  his 
chamber.  The  table  at  which  he  wrote,  and  the  chair  in  which 
he  sat  at  it,  stand  wliere  they  stood  in  his  day.  This  palace  is 
not  very   handsome,   but   it   h   charmingly  situated  near   the 


A   TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  379 

Palazzo  Foscari,  and  with  noble  palaces  on  every  side.  We 
visited  several  of  these  afterwards,  but  saw  nothing  particvjlarly 
worth  recording.  They  are  mostly  vast,  grim  old  edifices,  with 
a  dilapidated,  haunted  air,  and  seem  as  much  abandoned  to 
silence  and  forgetfulness  as  though  the  canals  that  circle  them 
were  the  sluggish  waters  of  Lethe. 

We  went  to  the  Square  of  St.  Mark  to  see  the  pigeons  fed 
at  two  o'clock.  By  some  ancient  custom  they  are  fed  here 
daily  at  this  hour.  When  we  arrived,  though  it  wanted  but  about 
a  minute  of  two,  there  were  but  three  or  four  hovering  about 
the  piazza ;  but  the  moment  the  clock  sounded,  they  came 
darting  from  every  direction  over  the  neighboring  roofs,  from 
church  and  tower,  and  campanile  and  palace,  with  such  a  rush, 
and  flutter,  and  darkening  of  wings  as  was  quite  startling. 
There  is  another  little  daily  exhibition  in  this  square,  in  honor 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  who  sits  on  a  balcony  of  the  clock 
tower.  Just  at  twelve  o'clock  a  door  opens  at  her  right,  and 
then  enter  certain  queer  tigures  denominated  magi,  who 
solemnly  bow  before  her,  and  then  pass  out  at  another  door  on 
the  left. 

All  this  evening  we  have  spent  in  the  gondola  on  the  lagunea 
and  canals,  with  full  moonlight  and  delicious  music.  Taking 
my  favorite,  unsocial  seat  on  the  prow,  I  watched  the  moon 
rise  from  the  Adriatic.  There  were  a  few  envious  clouds  just 
above  the  horizon  ;  but  it  was  glorious  to  see  how  grandly  she 
came  up,  triumphantly  treading  down  the  darkness,  till  she 
mounted  into  the  clear,  deep  sky,  where  the  stars  signalled  her 
coming.  I  had  been  sad  and  anxious  during  the  day,  as  the 
happiest  of  us  will  be  at  times,  and  feared  that  the  peace  and 
loveliness  of  this  moonlight  row  Avould  only  mock  a  troubled 
and  shadowed  spirit.  But,  watching  that  regal  mistress  of  the 
night  on  her  steady,  upward  course,  my  soul  seemed  to  receive 
Bomewhat  of  her  loftiness  and  grandeur,  and,  thrusting  back 


580  IIAPS    AND    MISHAPS    Ofr 

every  encumbering  cloud  of  its  human  conditions,  ascended 
into  the  freer  and  serener  region  of  the  beautiful  and  ideal. 

When,  leaving  the  lagune,  we  went  stealing  up  the  grand 
canal,  past  innumerable  old  palaces  and  majestic  churches,  glo- 
rified by  the  moonlight,  0  Heaven !  the  wonderful,  inexpres- 
sible, unearthly  beauty  of  the  scene!  Words  cannot  picture 
it,  imagination  itself  cannot  compass  it.  There  she  lay,  mar- 
vellous Venice,  in  her  stately  silence,  now  solemn  and  shadowy, 
now  light  and  luminous  —  so  like  a  creation  of  poetry,  and 
magic,  and  moonlight,  that  I  had  a  vague  feeling  that  she  must 
vanish  with  the  vanishing  moon  and  the  incoming  day,  and 
disappear  in  the  deeps  from  which  she  had  been  conjured. 

At  the  Rialto,  most  peculiar  and  picturesque  of  bridges,  I 
landed,  and  walked  slowly  across,  companioned  by  viewless 
beings  of  the  mind,  more  real  than  any  flesh  and  blood — 
Shylock  and  Antonio,  Bassanio,  Lorenzo  and  Jessica,  Desde- 
mona  and  the  Moor.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  con- 
fess the  romantic  weakness;  but,  as  thus  accompanied,  I  paused 
on  the  summit  of  the  arch,  in  the  still,  radiant  night,  and  richly 
realized  where  I  stood,  I  trembled  from  head  to  foot  with 
strange,  inexpressible  emotion,  a  vague,  half-fearful,  half- 
delicious  sense  of  the  supernatural. 

There  were  several  gondolas,  filled  with  fine  singers,  float- 
ing slowly  up  and  down  the  grand  canal,  and  out  into  the 
lagune,  giving,  by  their  rich  and  admirably  harmonized  voices, 
the  last  perfection  to  the  enchantments  of  the  night. 

Last  of  all,  I  took  a  stroll  with  a  friend  round  the  Square 
of  St.  Mark,  deserted  by  all  its  gay  throngs,  but  filled  with 
moonlight,  and  solemn  with  silence  and  grand  shadows.  It  is, 
of  all  places  in  this  strange  city,  the  one  seen  to  most  advantage 
under  the  moon.  Then  all  that  is  beautiful  and  stately  in  its 
architecture  stands  out  in  fine  relief;  while  the  marring  marks 
of  time,  and  the  darkening  advances  of  decay,  the  total  ex 


A   TOUR   IN   EUROPE.  381 

tinction  of  its  old  princely  and  powerful  life,  are  confounded 
in  the  natural  shadowing  and  repose  of  the  hour.  Seen  thus, 
there  is  no  melancholy  look  of  age  and  abandonment  about 
those  palaces,  but  an  ail  of  majestic  and  magical  splendor, 
ever  imposing  and  enchanting.  The  winged  lion  and  the 
crocodile,  surmounting  the  columns  of  Oi'iental  granite  in  the 
Piazzetta,  are  but  uncouth  monsters  in  the  day ;  but,  aloft  in 
the  moonlight,  they  are  shapes  of  mystery  and  awfulness,  and 
you  feel  that  they  mark  and  rule  the  scene  more  than  aught  else. 

I  retired  to  rest  at  midnight,  thanking  God  for  the  beauty 
on  which  I  had  gazed,  and  feeling  stronger  and  calmer  in  soul 
for  its  beneficent  ministrations. 

Ma  y  25. 

Yesterday  morning  we  rowed  out  to  the  Arsenal,  which  is 
finely  situated,  and  contains  many  objects  of  interest  and 
curious  antiquities,  though  in  the  last  respect  it  fell  below  my 
expectations;  not  being  comparable,  for  instance,  with  the 
Tower  of  London.  The  entrance  is  quite  imposing,  being 
guarded  by  four  lions  of  the  marble  of  Mount  Flyraettus,  brought 
from  Athens  in  the  seventeenth  century.  The  finest  of  these 
bears  a  Runic  inscription  on  his  neck,  and  is  supposed  to  have 
formed  part  of  a  monument  of  the  battle  of  Marathon.  In 
the  armory  we  saw  every  variety  of  ancient  armor  and 
weapons,  generally  of  a  most  ponderous  and  ferocious  charac- 
ter. There  were  also  many  trophies  of  battle  and  conquest, 
melancholy  memorials  of  the  perished  power  and  glory  of 
Venice  —  banners  fading  and  rotting  on  the  wall,  brought 
home  by  Henry  Dandolo,  the  grand  old  doge,  wlio,  at  the  age 
of  ninety-four,  and  when  nearly  blind,  took  Constantinople. 
There  was  the  model  of  the  bucintore,  or  state  gondola  of  the 
doges,  a  gorgeous  vessel,  dazzling  in  crimson  and  gold,  which 
must  have  "  burned  on  the  water,"  like  the  barge  of  Cleo- 
patra ;  and  there  were,  in  a  case  by  themselves,  horrible 
instruments  of   torture  and  assassination  —  curious,  infernal 


382  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

inventions,  the  object  and  management  of  which  I  could  with 
difficulty  be  made  to  comprehend.  Among  these  were  several 
which  once  belonged  to  Francesco  di  Carrara,  the  tyrant  of 
Padua,  showing  the  utmost  refinement  of  diabolical  cruelty  ;  in 
particular,  an  unsuspicious  little  instrument  by  which  he  dealt 
sudden  death  upon  the  objects  of  his  hate  or  distrust  —  an  ordi- 
nary-looking key,  which  could  be  carried  carelessly  in  the  hand, 
but  which,  by  touching  a  secret  spring,  shot  forth  poisoned 
needles.  But  the  most  terrible  of  all  were  the  torturing  hel- 
mets. These  are  rough,  heavy  iron  cases,  which  enclosed  the 
head  and  chest  of  the  victim  —  the  upper  portion  being  pierced 
with  small  holes,  through  which  the  torturer  thrust  into  the 
head  sharp  instruments  of  steel  resembling  spindles.  There 
was  no  opening,  except  a  sort  of  knob  or  tube,  where  the 
inquisitor  listened  for  confessions.  We  did  not  visit  the 
modern  armory,  and  but  hastily  looked  through  the  ship-build- 
ing department,  where  there  seems  little  in  progress.  It  is 
strangely  unlike  a  scene  in  a  dock  yard  at  home.  The  sailors 
go  about  in  sullen  silence.  Among  the  workmen  there  is  little 
of  the  noise  and  bustle  of  cheerful  labor  —  even  the  fall  of 
their  hammers  seems  slow  and  spiritless. 

From  the  Arsenal  we  went  to  the  Academy,  where  I  spent 
an  hour  or  two  of  intense  enjoyment  before  the  masterpieces 
of  Titian.  It  was  with  real  sorrow  that  I  turned  from  them 
at  last ;  and  my  farewell  look  on  the  divine  little  virgin,  in  the 
Presentation,  was  as  mournful  as  though  cast  on  some  beloved 
being.  O,  most  real  and  living  will  she  ever  be  to  me  in  all 
the  beauty  of  her  tender  years,  her  modest  confidence,  her  un- 
conscious holiness. 

Again  we  spent  the  evening  on  the  water,  seeing  Vrnice 
by  moonlight  for  the  last  time  —  for  to-night  the  moon  will  not 
rise  till  after  eleven  o'clock. 

This  morning,  resolving  to  have  a  new  experience,  I  took  a 
gondola  by  myself,  and  set  forth  on  a  round  of  sightseeing. 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  383 

My  gondolier,  a  very  kindly  old  man,  knows  Venice  thoroughly 
speaks  French,  and  talks  very  intelligently  on  art  and  ar~ 
chitecture  —  so  quite  does  away  with  the  necessity  of  a  valet 
de  place.  I  have,  to-day,  been  able  to  see  things  ai  leisure, 
quietly,  and  far  more  comprehendingly  than  I  should  have  done 
with  a  chattering,  professional  guide,  and  a  party  of  acquaint- 
ances. I  went  first  to  the  noble  Church  of  Santa  Maria 
Gloriosa  di  Frari,  which  contains  the  tomb  of  Titian,  and  a 
magnificent  monument,  erected  to  his  memory  by  the  Em- 
peror Ferdinand  I.  Plere  is  also  a  monument  to  Canova, 
after  a  design  of  his  own,  very  beautiful  and  imposing.  The 
tomb  of  the  Doge  Foscari,  and  a  noble  picture  by  Titian,  are 
the  objects  next  in  interest  here.  At  the  Church  of  San  Roch, 
I  saw  Titian's  Christ  dragged  by  the  Hangman,  a  terrible  pic- 
ture ;  and  in  the  Scuola  his  Annnunciation,  a  painting  full  of 
beauty,  and  breathing  the  purest  and  sweetest  religious  spirit. 
The  walls  and  ceiling  of  several  rooms  in  this  Scuola  aie 
covered  with  Tintorettos.  One  of  these  represents  St. 
Roch  contemplating  the  Father  eternal ;  but  so  face  to  face 
are  the  two  figures,  and  on  such  apparently  familiar  terms, 
that  it  is  really  a  little  difficult  to  decide  which  is  the  saint 
and  which  the  Deity.  Such  things  are  absolutely  revolting 
to  me. 

At  the  Church  of  San  Sebastiano  I  saw  the  St.  Nicholas 
of  Titian,  and  several  of  the  noblest  works  of  Paul  Veronese, 
whose  tomb  is  also  here. 

I  went  to  the  San  Giovanni  e  Paolo  for  the  sole  sake  of 
seeing  Titian's  St.  Peter,  martyr ;  but  found,  to  my  disap- 
pointment, that  it  was  being  copied  for  the  Emperor  of  Rus- 
sia, and  could  not  be  seen.  The  church  itself  is  a  most  im- 
pressive and  beautiful  edifice,  containing  many  fine  pictures 
and  majestic  monuments.  But  it  is  scarcely  worth  while  to 
mention  any  more  of  these  "  temples  vasts  et  magnijiques"  as 
my  guide  book  calls  them,  and  to  more  than  mention  them  is 


384  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

out  of  the  question.  The  churches  of  Venice  are  peculiarly 
indescribable.  From  St.  Mark's  down  to  the  least  of  those  I 
have  seen,  they  are  imposing  in  design  and  gorgeous  in  deco- 
ration, crowded  and  overflowing  with  riches.  Genius  in  every 
branch  of  art,  and  wealth  incalculable,  have  been  lavished 
upon  them  ;  fortunes  have  been  scattered  over  altars  and  piled 
up  in  monuments,  till  en  masse  they  stand  the  unrivalled  won- 
der of  tlie  world. 

In  the  afternoon  I  went  out  to  the  Island  of  San  Lazaro 
to  visit  the  Armenian  convent,  where  Byron,  when  at  Venice, 
spent  much  of  his  time  in  study.  I  was  very  kindly  received 
by  the  brothers,  one  of  whom  showed  me  over  all  that  part  of 
the  establishment  which  may  be  seen  by  women  —  the  chapel, 
the  cloisters,  the  two  libraries,  and  the  printing  office.  The 
cloisters  are  very  pleasant  and  airy,  surrounding  a  beautiful 
flower  garden.  In  the  chapel,  a  neat,  unambitious  edifice,  I 
found  a  number  of  the  brothers  in  prayer,  and  I  certainly 
never  saw  finer-looking  men.  There  was  one  old  priest,  who 
was  blind,  and  whose  snow-white  beard  flowed  to  his  waist  — 
a  beautiful  and  saintly  head.  The  young  monk  who  escorted 
me  was  a  remarkably  handsome  and  intelligent  man,  and 
seemed  a  genuine  enthusiast  for  Lord  Byron  —  showed  me 
the  place  in  the  large  library  where  he  studied,  and  his  auto- 
graph, in  English  and  Armenian,  looking  as  fresh  as  though 
written  yesterday,  in  the  register  of  visitors'  names.  Byron's 
old  teacher,  with  whose  assistance  he  wrote  an  English-Arme- 
nian grammar,  is  still  living,  and  likes  well  to  talk  of  his  illus- 
trious pupil,  whom  he  pronounces  "  a  very  good  student, ybr  a 
lord." 

The  principal  curiosities  at  this  convent  are  the  ancient 
Oriental  manuscripts,  and  an  admirably  preserved  and  richly 
apparelled  Egyptian  mummy,  some  three  thousand  years  old. 
The  whole  convent  has  such  an  air  of  religious,  scholastic  re- 
pose, of  such  assured  and  cheerful  peace,  that  it  seemed  to  me 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  385 

a  most  enviable  island  of  rest  in  the  vexed  sea  of  human  life ; 
and  I  was  most  sincere  when  I  said  to  the  monk  accompany- 
ing me,  "  You  must  be  very  happy  here  !  "  He  gave  a  half 
sigh,  as  he  answered,  "  It  is  best  for  me  to  be  here  —  and  1 
p.m  content." 

On  my  way  home,  seeing  the  face  of  my  gondolier  kindling 
to  the  glories  of  the  sunset,  I  asked  if  he  could  sing.  He 
owned  to  "  the  soft  impeachment,"  and  asked  if  the  signora 
would  like  to  hear  some  ol'  the  verses  of  Tasso.  Of  course, 
the  signora  said  yes ;  but  she  soon  repented  of  her  romantic 
rashness,  for,  tliough  the  spirit  was  willing,  the  voice  was 
weak,  and  hoarse,  and  cracked,  so  that  the  performance  was 
more  lamentable  than  can  be  imagined.  But  after  he  had 
ceased,  I  haa  an  hour's  delicious  though  somewhat  melancholy 
enjoyment  in  lying  on  the  luxurious  cushions,  listening  to  the 
silvery  ripple  of  the  waves  agaisst  the  prow,  and  the  sound 
of  the  vesprv  bells  coming  mellowed  over  the  water.  Nowhere 
is  the  sound  of  bells  so  sweet,  and  deep,  and  solemn  as  at 
Venice  ;  even  the  clocks  ring  out  melodiously,  and  the  gun-fire 
at  sunset  is  something  truly  grand.  Yet  Venice  is  a  most 
melancholy  and  saddening  place  to  me.  There  is  something 
deathlike  in  its  strange  silence ;  and,  much  as  I  enjoy  the  lazy 
and  dreamy  luxury  of  the  gondola,  the  necessity  of  always 
employing  one  gives  me  a  sei\s«>i  of  imprisonment  and  painful 
constraint. 

There  is  to  me  no  sight  more  mournful  than  one  of  the  an- 
cient, unoccupied  palaces  on  the  grand  canal,  with  its  closed 
doors  and  boarded  windows,  shutting  in  a  thousand  glorious 
memories — like  old  Belisarius  standing  by  the  way,  with  his 
blind,  blank  eyes,  and  his  imperial  front  —  doomed,  deserted, 
desolate,  yet  royal  still.  All  about  you  is  of  the  past  and  of 
the  dead ;  the  city  seems  one  vast  assemblage  of  stately 
monuments  and  magnificent  mausoleums  ;  it  has  no  present 
power  or  glory,  or  real  existence.  Lovely  but  lifeless  Venice 
33 


386  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

—  dead  Aphrodite,  saddening  the  waves  which  once  smiled  aa 
they  upbore  her,  and  blushed  in  the  morning  glow  of  hei 
beauty !  ^ 

JUa  y  26. 

This  morning  came  off  the  grand  church  fete  of  Corpus 
Domifie,  with  ceremonies  at  St.  Mark's,  and  an  immense  pro- 
cession around  the  Square.  All  the  priests  of  all  the  churches 
of  Venice  were  there,  in  brilliant  festa  dresses,  bearing  images, 
and  crosses,  and  banners,  and  great  tapers,  wreathed  with 
flowers  and  many  other  varieties  of  splendid  symbols.  There 
was  also  a  fine  military  display,  in  which  the  Austrian  and 
Hungarian  uniforms  shone  resplendent.  There  were  crowds 
of  the  people,  in  their  gayest  costumes  ;  from  the  windows 
and  balconies  of  all  the  buildings  surroundin.g  the  Square 
floated  bright-colored  hangings ;  altogether  a  beautiful  and 
striking  sight,  though  the  procession  itself,  after  those  I  had 
seen  at  St.  Peter's,  was  a  slow  affair.  The  martial  music,  and 
the  guns  with  which  it  concluded,  were  decidedly  the  best  part 
of  the  entertainment.  On  this  occasion,  where  once  waved 
the  gorgeous  gonfalons  of  Venice,  Cyprus,  and  the  Morea,  on 
the  bronze  pedestals  in  front  of  the  Basilica,  were  hoisted  the 
Austrian  colors.  The  imperial  banner  in  the  centre,  with  its 
deep  border  of  black  and  yellow,  drooping  heavily,  and  wind- 
ing stealthily  round  and  round  the  standard  in  the  light  wind, 
reminded  me  of  an  enormous  serpent,  and  so  seemed  quite  a 
fitting  symbol  of  that  despotism  which  crushes  out  the  life  of 
nations  in  its  deadly  folds. 

In  the  afternoon  I  again  took  my  gondola,  and  went  out  to 
the  Island  of  San  Servolo  to  visit  the  hospital  for  the  sick  and 
insane.  In  the  department  for  the  former  there  are  about  one 
hundred  patients ;  in  that  for  the  latter  nearly  two  hundred, 
all  males.  This  establishment  is  entirely  under  the  charge  of 
the  Hospitaliars. 

I  was  first  conducted  to  a  pleasant  little  salle  looking  out  on 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  387 

a  garden,  where  a  noble-looking  old  monk  received  me,  con- 
versed with  me,  and  offered  me  refreshment.  On  my  remarking 
that  perhaps  i^  was  an  unprecedented  thing  for  a  ladj  to  visit 
their  hospital  alone,  he  assented,  but  added,  very  graciously, 
that  he  was  gratified  to  see  me  so  much  interested  in  God's  most 
unhappy  children.  The  monk  to  whose  charge  he  confided  me 
was  young,  and  with  a  countenance  so  beautiful  and  gentle 
that  he  might  serve  as  a  model  for  a  St.  John.  He  first  con- 
ducted me  through  the  general  hospital,  where  I  saw  several 
of  the  brothers  in  attendance  upon  the  sick.  There  was  one 
saint-like  old  man,  supporting  on  his  breast  a  poor,  paralytic 
boy,  nursing  him  with  all  a  woman's  tenderness,  before  whom 
I  could  have  knelt,  entreating  his  blessing.  Nowhere  are  the 
religious  orders  of  Italy  seen  in  such  an  admirable  and  lova- 
ble light  as  in  institutions  of  this  kind.  Next  I  was  shown 
into  the  grounds  where  the  mad  patients  take  exercise  and 
recreation  ir.  the  afternoon,  and  where  they  were  to  come  in  a 
few  moments.  There  was  but  one  there  when  we  entered  — 
a  young  man  of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  who,  with  his  arms 
folded,  and  his  head  upon  his  breast,  was  walking  slowly  up 
and  down  a  little  grove,  melancholy  mad.  We  ascended  a 
belvedere  built  by  the  patients,  and  were  talking  of  the  various 
points  of  the  view,  when  the  poor  young  madman  joined  us. 
His  was  a  handsome  but  an  almost  heart-breaking  face,  so 
prematurely  sorrow-struck  and  despairing.  Yet  he  smiled  in 
answer  to  our  greeting,  and  once  laughed  outright  when  the 
wind,  which  was  high  upon  that  mound,  caught  up  the  long 
breadth  of  black  stuff  pendent  from  the  shoulders  of  the  monk, 
and  flung  it  over  my  head. 

At  length  the  hour  for  the  promenade  having  sounded,  the 
gates  were  thrown  open,  and  a  perfect  flood  of  madness  came 
pouring  in.  There  were  all  varieties  except  those  of  violent 
frenzy — the  monomaniac  and  the  utterly  distraught,  the 
merry  and  the  moping,  the  fantastic  and  ^he  imbecile.     There 


388  HArS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

was  one,  and  a  superb-looking  fellow  he  was,  who  came  proudl^y 
striding  in,  with  a  straw  crown  upon  his  head,  and  a  gro- 
tesquely embroidered  mantle  wrapped  about  him  —  the  Empe- 
ror of  Russia.  Tli(>re  was  one  who  stole  in  fearfully,  crept 
to  a  corner,  and  crouched  down,  gibbering ;  there  was  one 
who  burst  in,  shouting,  and  leaping,  and  throwing  somersets ; 
there  were  those  who  came  in  gently,  and  sat  down  together 
on  the  benches,  conversing,  and  enjoying  the  pleasant  air  and 
sunlight.  The  melancholy  and  abstracted  walked  away  by 
themselves,  and  I  observed  that  the  wildest  and  merriest 
respected  their  sorrow  and  deep  meditations.  All  greeted  the 
young  padre  with  the  utmost  apparent  affection  save  one  —  a 
fierce,  formidable  sailor,  with  a  red  cap  on  his  head,  who  strode 
up  before  us,  and  began  a  violent  tirade  against  the  fraternity 
for  imprisoning  him  and  taking  possession  of  his  estates.  He 
pronounced  the  priests  villains,  robbers,  devils,  and  lashed 
himself  up  to  a  terrific  pitch  of  passion.  It  was  curious  to  see 
how  the  other  maniacs  all  sided  with  the  Hospitaliars,  and 
cried  shame  on  their  accuser.  At  length  one  of  them,  a  fat, 
merry-looking  old  man,  in  black  smallclothes,  who  looked  like 
Lablache,  as  Doctor  Bartolo,  in  the  Barber  of  Seville,  doubt- 
less thinking  that  the  scene  was  a  little  scandalous,  giving  a 
sly  wink  to  the  padre,  and  stealing  behind  the  denunciator, 
suddenly  pulled  Iiis  red  cap  down  over  his  eyes.  I  expected  a 
scene  of  violence  to  ensue,  but,  to  my  surprise,  the  sailor  joined 
in  the  laugh  raised  against  him,  and  only  revenged  himself  by 
stooping  down  and  drawing  in  the  sand  a  clever  caricature  of 
his  assailant. 

I  afterwards  visited  the  various  departments  of  the  establish- 
ment—  the  dormitories,  the  dining  rooms,  the  work  rooms,  the 
laundry,  the  kitchen,  the  pharmacy,  and  the  chapel ;  and 
every  where  I  was  impressed  by  a  prevailing  system  of  com- 
fort, order,  and  cleanliness,  and  of  judicious  and  kindly  man- 
agement.    In  the  pension,  tiu^  (h-partment  for  the  better  chiss 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  ^89 

of  patients,  we  met  a  really  elegant  young  gentleman,  who, 
though  he  looked  ill,  had  no  mark  of  insanity  in  face  or  man- 
ner. He  addressed  me  very  courteously  in  Italian  ;  but  being 
requested  by  the  padre  to  speak  French,  exclaimed,  "  Pardon 
me  —  I  flattered  myself  I  was  meeting  a  countrywoman. 
Ah,  madam,  how  Italian  is  your  face  !  I,  who  am  Italian,  a 
Venetian,  make  my  compliments  to  you." 

This  patient,  like  most  of  the  others,  having  shown  a  sort 
of  boyish  fondness  for  the  young  Hospitaliar,  I  remarked  upon 
it  to  him,  saying,  that  it  must  make  his  happiness  here.  He 
sighed  lightly  as  he  answered,  "  It  smooths  the  ruggedness  of 
duty  ;  but  happiness^  in  the  midst  of  madness,  we  may  not 
look  for.     Listen,  signora  !  " 

We  were  near  the  department  for  the  incurables  —  a  wild, 
piercing,  prolonged  cry  broke  from  one  of  the  cells,  and  was 
answered  by  howl  after  howl,  and  shriek  after  shriek,  and  peals 
of  frenzied  laughter  down  the  long  hall,  now  darkening  in  the 
twilight !  A  thrill  of  involuntary  horror  shiveied  throug/i  my 
veins,  and  it  was  not  till  I  found  myself  rocked  on  the  silvery 
lagune,  under  the  softest  and  loveliest  of  evening  skies,  that 
my  heart  began  to  beat  calmly,  and  those  maniacal  sounds 
ceased  to  ring  through  my  brain. 

May  27. 

This  morning,  wishing  to  see  how  my  poor  crazed  sisters 
fared  in  Venice,  I  have  visited  the  great  civil  hospital  attached 
to  the  Convent  of  St.  Jolm  and  St.  Paul.  Here  there  are 
nearly  a  thousand  patients,  the  greater  part  insane.  It  is  an 
immense  and  apparently  an  admirably  planned  and  conducted 
establishment,  principally  under  the  care  of  the  Cappuccini 
and  the  Sisters  of  Mercy. 

It  was  with  an  intense  and  even  fearful  interest  that  I  went 
through  the  department  for  the  insane  women.  I  had  sup- 
posed that  madness,  with  these  passionate  children  of  the 
south,  would  be  j-^mething  awful  to  behold  —  disclosing  heights 
33* 


390  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

of  frenzy  and  depths  of  despair  strange  and  appalling  to  ray 
siglit.  But,  on  the  contrary,  as  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  these 
insane  are  quieter  and  happier  than  the  same  class  with  us. 
I  saw  several  large  work  rooms  filled  with  mad  women,  very 
busily  and  tranquilly  employed,  with  only  one  or  two  of  the 
sisters  present.  All  weie  affable  and  cheerful  in  their  manner, 
and  I  saw  but  one  instance  of  actual  violence  ;  of  course,  I 
raean  of  those  who  are  allowed  to  come  together  lor  work, 
amusement,  or  devotion.  There  are  numbers  so  utterly  crazed, 
so  furiously  mad,  as  to  be  kept  in  solitary  confinement. 

In  the  pension,  I  was  presented  to  a  French  lady  —  a  striking 
and  handsome  woman,  who  has  been  ten  yeai's  insane  for  the 
death  of  her  only  son.  She  was  dressed  tastefully,  in  black, 
and  bore  an  air  of  much  dignity  and  refinement.  She  con- 
versed with  me  for  some  time  cahuiy,  even  cheerfully;  then, 
suddenly  giving  a  sigh  that  seemed  to  pull  at  the  very  roots 
of  life,  she  turned  away  her  head  with  a  touching  look  of  self- 
reproach  for  having  forgotten  her  sorrow  so  long.  There  was 
one  young  girl  whom  it  was,  indeed,  a  piteous  sight  to  behold. 
She  believed  herself  Mary  Magdalene,  and,  w^ith  her  long 
brown  liair  falling  over  her  shoulders,  she  was  prostrated  be- 
fore a  crucifix,  moaning,  weeping,  and  praying,  blind  and  deaf 
to  our  presence.  There  was  in  one  of  the  wards  for  the  sick 
another  young  girl,  over  whose  bed  watched,  with  unusual 
tenderness,  a  mild-eyed  Sister  of  Mercy,  and  whose  face  so 
struck  upon  my  heart  that  I  could  not  lose  sight  of  it  even 
when  I  left  the  hospital ;  it  followed  me  into  my  gondola  —  it 
is  with  me  in  my  chamber  now  —  I  can  almost  fancy  I  see  it 
lying  on  my  own  pillow.  It  was  a  face  from  which  you  caught 
fearful  hints  at  some  unspeakable  sorrow.  In  the  sunken  and 
shadowy  eyes,  the  wild  fire  of  insanity  was  half  quenched  in 
tears  —  the  brow  was  knit,  not  sternly,  but  with  anguish,  and 
the  lips  quivered  as  with  the  writhing  of  some  serpent-like 
-ecoUection.       She    had    been    very    lovely   once  —  she    wa« 


A    TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  391 

terribly  beautiful  still,  with  her  wandering  eyes  and  her  con- 
vulsed brow,  her  dark,  abundant  hair  tossed  back  upon  her 
pillow,  and  her  slender  hands  clasped,  or  rather  clinched,  upon 
her  breast.  Yet  I  was  not  so  sad  for  her  as  for  the  others,  for 
I  saw  by  the  hectic  flush  on  either  cheek  that  Death's  gentlest 
angel,  Consumption,  was  kissing  her  soul  away;  that  God  was 
calling  home  his  poor  distraught  and  broken-hearted  child. 

I  afterwards  passed  through  all  the  wards  of  the  general 
hospital,  which  I  found  orderly,  airy,  quiet,  and  comfortable 
to  a  remarkable  and  cheering  degree.  Of  course,  among 
hundreds  of  the  mendicant  sick,  I  saw  some  very  painful 
sights  ;  one,  in  especial,  I  shall  never  forget.  In  a  large  hall, 
filled  with  the  beds  of  patients,  I  was  pausing  to  look  at  a 
richly-carved  plafond,  when  I  lieard,  just  behind  me,  a  strange, 
startling  sound,  and,  turning,  saw  a  ghastly  figure  spring  half 
up  in  bed,  and  then  fall  back  upon  the  pillows.  "  II  va 
mourir  I "  cried  my  guide,  hurrying  me  away.  The  sound  1 
had  heard  was  the  death  rattle.  It  may  be  thought  strange 
that  I  should  go  to  these  hospitals  alone ;  but  I  had  in  Venice 
no  friends  a\  hose  sightseeing  tastes  lay  in  that  direction,  and 
I  believed  tKat  I  ought  to  visit  and  report  upon  some  institu 
tions  of  the  kind  in  Italy.  Moreover,  I  must  confess  that 
madness  has  ever  had  a  terrible  fascination  for  me,  and  that, 
at  times,  I  like  to  test  my  own  strength  to  look  down  into  the 
profoundest  depths  of  human  suffering. 

On  my  way  back  to  my  hotel,  I  consoled  myself  by  stopping 
at  the  Santa  Maria  Formosa,  and  contemplating  the  beautiful 
St.  Barbara  of  Palma  Vecchio.  This  church  is  romantically 
famous  as  the  scene  of  the  bearing  off  of  the  brides  of  Venice. 

I  passed  under  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  landed  in  front  of  the 
Doge's  palace,  walked  into  the  Piazza  San  Marco  and  around 
it  for  the  last  time.  In  an  hour  I  set  out  for  Milan.  By  the 
way,  I  suppose  I  should  give  the  sequel  of  the  affair  of  the 
poniard.     Finding,  on   reaching  Venice,  that  a  minute  had 


392  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

been  r.iade  of  it  on  mj  passport,  which  would  subject  me  It 
suspicion  and  rigorous  searches  during  all  my  travel  in  th(j 
Austrian  dominions,  I  applied  to  my  friend  Mr.  Jerome,  our 
consul  at  Trieste,  for  advice.  It  happened  that  he  was  about 
to  visit  Venice  ;  and,  though  I  had  been  summoned  to  ap- 
pear at  the  Bureau,  I  rather  coolly  waited  till  his  arrival, 
when,  with  him  and  the  American  consul  at  this  place,  I  pre- 
sented myself  at  the  dread  tribunal.  The  chief  of  the  po- 
lice, an  Austrian  colonel  of  gendarmes,  proved  to  be  a  man 
of  gentlemanly  feeling  and  address,  and,  what  is  better,  of 
good  common  sense.  He  accepted  at  once  ipy  explanation, 
expressed  regret  for  the  annoyance  I  had  suffered  from  sus- 
picious officials,  promised  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  annul  the 
minute  on  my  passport,  and  assured  me  he  had  much  pleasure 
in  restoring  to  me  my  dagger.  Saying  this,  he,  with  a 
gracious  bow,  presented  to  me,  in  place  of  my  little  plaything 
of  a  poniard,  a  large  claspknife,  which,  with  a  startling  spring 
and  a  deadly  click,  lanced  a  blade  some  six  inches  long  !  Of 
course,  I  disowned  it,  with  a  shudder  and  a  laugh,  giving  as  my 
opinion  to  the  gallant  officer,  that,  had  I  carried  a  weapon  of  so 
decidedly  murderous  a  character,  he  would  have  been  justified 
in  arresting  and  lodging  me  in  the  Piombi. 

This  dirk  had  been  sent  on  from  Rovigo  as  mine ;  but  he 
said  the  right  one  should  be  found  and  given  to  me  ere  I  left 
Venice.  I  assured  him  that  I  did  not  care  for  the  dagger.  He 
replied  that  he  chose  to  restore  it,  and  wrote  underneath  the 
vise  he  gave  me  for  Verona,  "  Restituito  lo  stilo.'' 

Milan,  June  1 
I  left  Venice  on  the  27th  of  May,  and  came  through  to 
Milan  in  about  twenty-four  hours,  by  railway  and  dihgence. 
The  examination  of  our  luggage  at  the  station  in  Venice,  we 
were  told,  would  be  very  severe ;  but  it  proved  to  be  a  mere 
fHrce.     My  trunks  were  simply  glanced  into,  not  an  article 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  393 

disturbed.  No  sooner  had  I  presented  my  passport  tlian  T 
was  politely  requested  to  walk  into  the  office  of  the  superior 
officer,  where,  with  an  imposing  amount  of  form,  my  poniard 
was  presented  to  me,  enclosed  in  two  envelopes,  and  sealed 
with  four  great  seals.  Thus  ended,  I  trust,  the  last  scene  of 
the  last  act  of  the  comedy  of  The  Dagger.  The  steel  has 
some  value  to  me  now  as  the  memento  of  an  absurd  adventure, 
and,  as  the  safest  course,  I  shall  wear  it  about  me  till  I  am  out 
of  the  Austrian  dominions.  From  Venice  to  Verona  we  went 
by  railway.  It  seemed  strange  enougli  to  go  rushing  and 
puffing  into  the  scene  of  so  much  romance  and  poetry  —  the 
place  of  all  the  world  you  would  have  sleep  forever  in  the 
melancholy  quiet  of  its  own  tender  and  tragic  memories. 

But  Verona,  by  itself,  contents  one  well.  It  is  a  quaint, 
shadowy,  peculiar,  decayed,  yet  beautiful  old  town.  It  was 
nearly  dark  when  we  reached  the  inn,  and,  as  the  diligence 
left  at  nine  o'clock  the  same  evening,  we  had  barely  time,  be- 
fore our  dinner,  to  take  a  circumscribed  stroll  through  the  cen- 
tre of  the  city.  We  visited  first  the  Piazza  delle  Erbe,  the 
old  Market  Place,  where  the  servitors  of  the  rival  houses  of 
Montague  and  Capulet  used  to  meet  and  quarrel ;  the^  the 
Piazza  dei  Signori,  a  small  but  fine  square,  surrounded  by 
palaces  ;  then  the  beautiful,  elaborate  tombs  of  the  Scaligers, 
which,  however,  we  could  not  see  to  advantage  for  the  deepen- 
ing darkness.  Last  of  all,  we  went  to  the  house  of  the  Capu- 
lets,  of  which  we  were  satisfied  to  take  only  an  exterior  sur- 
vey. It  is  a  grim,  dilapidated  old  building,  now  used  as  an 
inn  for  vetturini.  It  is  neither  lordly  in  size  nor  style  ;  but  it 
-.6,  without  doubt,  all  it  pretends  to  be,  as  the  arms  of  the 
Capulets  may  yet  be  seen,  carved  in  stone,  over  the  large 
gateway.  The  orchard  no  longer  remains  attached  to  the 
house ;  and  the  balcony  of  Juliet,  which  overlooked  it,  is,  I 
trust,  among  the  things  that  were.  At  all  events,  we  saw  noth- 
ing of  it.     We  saw  no  one  object  which  we  dared  distinctly 


394  HArS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

associate  with  that  loveliest  ideal  of  poetry  and  passion  save 
the  roof  that  had  sheltered  her  fair  head,  and  the  rude  walla 
which,  like  a  rough  casket,  had  once  shut  round  her  rich  and 
beautiful  life ;  and  yet  the  thought  of  her,  a  very  moonlight 
of  fancy,  brightened  and  sweetened  all  the  scene.  Her  love 
gave  a  beauty,  her  sorrow  a  sa  redness,  to  that  old  house, 
which  its  present  degenerate  an  1  commonplace  aspett  and 
vulgar  use  could  not  destroy.  0,  the  immortalizing,  divinizing 
element  of  genius,  transmuting  and  transfiguring  the  com- 
monest object  round  which  it  plays!  O,  the  godlike  mastery 
of  the  poet,  compelling  the  hearts  of  the  world,  for  age  aftei 
age,  to  throb  in  sympathy  with  the  passion  and  the  despair  of 
a  romantic  youth,  and  to  bleed  witli  the  breaking  heart  of  a 
girl! 

In  the  Market  Place  and  that  lordly  old  Square,  Romeo,  and 
Mercutio,  and  Benvolio,  and  the  County  Paris  were  more  liv- 
ing and  present  to  my  mind  than  the  real  flesh-and-blood 
figures  moving  there.  I  almost  looked  to  see  the  Nurse  come 
hobbling  along,  preceded  by  Peter,  bearing  her  fan ;  so  com- 
pletely was  I  under  the  spell  of  the  place.  Yet  I  did  not 
regret  the  want  of  time  to  visit  the  so  called  tomb  of  Juliet, 
there  not  being  sufficient  proof  of  the  genuineness  of  this  relic 
to  satisfy  the  most  romantic  and  wilfully  credulous  pilgrim. 

After  spending  a  long,  wearisome,  sleepless  night  in  the 
diligence,  we  stopped  for  breakfast  at  Brescia.  This  is  a 
pleasantly  situated,  but  melancholy  looking  town,  having  a  sin- 
gularly decayed,  discouraged,  unprosperous  air.  It  suffered 
terribly  from  being  besieged,  captured,  and  sacked  by  the 
French,  under  Gaston  de  Foix  and  the  Chevalier  Bayard,  in 
1512,  and  seems  to  have  never  lifted  its  head  since.  In  the 
late  unsuccessful  struggle  for  freedom,  it  was  the  scene  of  some 
of  Haynau's  most  atrocious  butcheries.  I  had  barely  time 
after  breakfast  to  run  up  on  to  the  ramparts,  from  which  I  had 
*  wide  V  iew  over  a  lovely  cou  try. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  395 

At  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we  took  the  railway, 
which  brought  us  in  a  mere  flash  to  Milan.  On  the  way  to 
our  hotel,  we  passed  the  Cathedral,  which,  after  all  I  had  seen 
elsewhere,  after  all  I  had  anticipated  and  imagined,  filled  me 
with  wonder  and  delight.  I  have  visited  it  often,  spent  many 
hours  within  and  about  it  since,  with  an  ever-deepening  pleas- 
ure in  the  contemplation.  So  elaborately  beautiful  is  it,  so 
exquisite  in  detail,  that  every  portion  forms  a  separate  study ; 
yet  so  admirably  matched  and  blended  are  the  various  parts 
that  the  whole  etFect  is  noble  and  harmonious  —  a  temple  grand 
without  being  oppressively  vast,  and  solemn  without  gloomi- 
ness—  a  truly  sublime  edifice.  In  size,  and  in  a  sort  of  pon- 
derous grandeur,  St.  Peter's  is,  of  course,  far  before  it ;  but 
in  elegance,  in  all  the  bold  fancies  and  beautiful  wonders  of  ar- 
chitecture; tliis  infinitely  surpasses  that  imposing  basilica. 
This  seems  to  irabody  the  poetry,  as  that  the  power,  of  the 
church.  This,  with  its  shining  assemblage  of  towers  and  pin- 
nacles, seems  the  "  outward  and  visible  sign  "  of  human  wor- 
ship, pure  praise  upspringing  in  enduring  stone  —  sculptured 
aspiration ;  while  that  is  the  piled  pomp  of  religion,  its  vast 
dimensions  bewildering  the  soul,  and  the  mimic. heaven  above 
shutting  it  out  from  the  real  upper  glories  to  which  it  aspires. 

There  is  i^  me  something  in  the  Gothic  style  of  architect- 
ure peculiarly  calculated  to  lift  and  trance  the  heart  in  adora- 
tion. Thus,  in  this  beautiful  cathedral,  though  I  am  conscious 
of  no  brooding  presence  of  sanctity,  no  oppressive  religious 
solemnity,  I  always  feel  the  instinct  of  faith,  the  pure,  natural 
sentiment  of  reverence  and  devotion.  In  St.  Peter's,  my  soul 
never  responded  to  the  call  to  prayer ;  it  was  a  strange  world, 
in  which  I  seemed  lost,  and  wandered  wondering,  rather  than 
worshipping. 

The  Duomo  of  Milan  is  built  entirely  of  white  marble,  on 
which  time  and  exposure  seem  only  to  have  wrought  to  mel- 
low its  tint  and  to  soften  the  elfect  of  its  sculpture,  even  by 


396  HAPS. AND    3IISHAPS    OY 

the  heavy  darkening  of  some  of  the  parts  increasing  the 
beauty  of  the  whole.  It  is,  from  base  to  summit,  absolutely 
alive  with  statues  and  bas  reliefs.  There  are  no  less  than 
three  thousand  figures  on  the  pinnacles  and  in  the  niches  of 
the  exterior ;  and  there  are  yet  one  thousand  five  hundred  to 
be  executed.  The  effect  of  all  this  external  statuary,  with 
the  ornamental  accessories  of  sculpture  in  endless  variety,  is 
striking  and  peculiar,  yet  elegant  and  magnificent.  It  is  in 
itself  such  a  triumph  of  architecture,  such  a  gorgeous  yet 
graceful  structure,  that,  aside  from  any  religious  sentiment, 
you  are  forced  to  approve  of  the  incalculable  outlay  of  wealth 
and  genius  by  which  it  exists.  It  stands  its  own  beautiful 
justification. 

We  have,  to-day,  ascended  to  the  roof,  a  truly  wonderful 
place  in  itself,  and  from  which  we  were  told  we  should  have 
an  unrivalled  view  of  the  plain  of  Lombardy,  of  the  Alps  and 
the  Apennines.  But  unluckily,  though  the  near  landscap*^ 
was  distinctly  visible,  the  horizon  was  veiled  off  by  mists  ; 
only  the  dim  outlines  of  the  Alps  were  discernable  —  mere 
ghosts  of  mountains. 

We  have  descended  into  the  chapel  of  San  Carlo  Borromeo, 
in  the  crj'^pt  of  the  cathedral.  This,  for  its  size,  is  the  richest 
chapel  I  have  yet  seen,  being  completely  lined  with  bas  reliefs 
of  solid  silver,  and  hung  about  with  massive  silver  lamps. 
Among  other  costly  offerings,  there  is  a  tablet  given  by  the 
money  changers,  surmounted  by  cornucopias,  filled  with  real 
coins  of  silver  and  gold.  But  the  great  show  is  the  saint 
himself,  who  is  kept  in  a  splendid  shrine  behind  the  altar,  and 
exhibited  to  the  pious  or  the  curious  for  an  extra  fee  of  five 
francs.  This  secured,  the  holy  man  who  attended  on  us 
lit  four  additional  tapers,  let  down  the  front  of  the  shrine 
by  turning  a  windlass,  and  showed  a  coffin  of  crystal,  set  in 
gold,  containing  a  black  and  mouldering  mummy,  dressed  in 
gorgeous  pontifical  robes,  and  covered  with  flashing   gems. 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE,  397 

Above  the  breast  was  suspended  a  large  cross  of  diamonds 
and  emeralds,  the  gift  of  Maria  Theresa  ;  and  all  about  hung 
like  royal  offerings,  deepening  fearfully,  by  contrast,  the  hor- 
ribleness  of  human  decay.  It  was  terrible  to  see  how  the  live 
light  of  those  brilliants,  the  glow  of  those  golden  embroi- 
deries, the  pomp  of  the  jewelled  mitre  seemed  to  mock  the  eye- 
less sockets,  the  shrivelled  skin,  the  bare  and  blackened  skull. 

June  3. 

We  have,  to-day,  visited  several  churches,  which  we  found, 
though  remarkably  rich  in  treasures  and  decorations,  neither 
very  beautiful  nor  imposing.  Elsewhere  they  might  show 
better;  here  they  are  dwarfed  by  the   Cathedral. 

In  the  refectory  of  an  old  convent,  now  converted  into  a 
barrack,  we  saw  the  Last  Supper  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 
This  wonderful  fresco  has  been  terribly  injured  by  time,  neg- 
lect,  accidents,  and  yet  more  terribly  by  the  retouchings  of 
presumptuous  daubers.  You  can  now  distinguish  little  beside 
the  composition  and  the  general  sentiment  of  the  picture.  The 
head  of  Christ,  though  injured  and  grown  faint,  seems  to 
have  escaped,  as  by  miracle,  the  sacrilegious  ruin  visited  upon 
the  others,  as  though  the  boldest  restorers  had  been  awed  back 
by  its  transcendent  majesty  and  sweetness.  It  seems  to  have 
slowly  and  softly  faded  away ;  dim  and  distant,  yet  still  divine, 
it  looks  as  we  fancy  his  receding  face  may  have  looked  to  \m 
bereaved  disciples,  when  he  was  caught  up  in  a  cloud  out  of 
their  sight. 

The  Brera,  the  public  gallery  of  paintings,  contains  some 
fine  pictures,  and  many,  to  my  apprehension,  great  only  in  the 
matter  of  square  feet.  I  have  dim  and  jumbled  recollections 
of  them  —  vast  stretches  of  canvas  —  Martyrdoms,  Massa- 
cres, Nativities,  Presentations,  Adorations,  Madonnas,  Man- 
gers, Holy  Families,  Saints,  Cherubs,  Assumptions,  Last 
Judgments,  Temptations,  Flagellations,  and  Crucifixions.  But 
34 


398  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 


I  have  a  most  distinct  recollection  of  the  Sposalizio  of  Raphael^ 
a  portrait  by  Titian,  and  a  very  delicious  picture,  a  Virgin  and 
Child,  by  Sassoferrato. 

There  is  a  private  collection  here,  in  the  pf.lace  of  the  Count 
Castelbarca,  where  we  saw  several  exquisite  pictures  by  the 
ijreat  roasters. 

At  the  Biblioteca  Ambrosiana  there  is  a  small  but  valuable 
collection  of  paintings,  among  which  is  a  Christ  on  the  Cross, 
by  Guido  —  a  j)icture  which  transtixed  me  before  it,  awestruck 
and  tearful.  I  have  nowhere  seen  this  most  pathetic  and 
solemn  subject  so  grandly  treated.  There  is  but  the  one 
figure,  without  the  usual  accessories.  The  dread  consumma- 
tion is  accomplished  ;  "2V  isjinished;^'  and  the  crucified  Naza- 
rene  is  left  alone  on  darkening  Calvary.  The  whole  picture 
is  overpoweringly  expressive  of  the  utter  desertion  of  earth, 
of  that  abandonment  of  Heaven  against  which  he  cried  out  to 
the  Father. 

Among  the  curiosities  in  this  library  we  saw  Petrarch's 
Virgil,  copied  by  him,  and  containing  many  of  his  annotations  ; 
the  original  correspondence  between  Lucrezia  Borgia  and 
Cardinal  Bembo,  and  a  lock  of  Lucrezia's  hair.  This  is  a 
bright  golden  tress,  which  having  seen  with  no  name  attached, 
I  might  have  fancied  had  been  clipped  from  the  head  of  a 
young  novice,  renouncing  with  a  pure  heart  and  fervent  lips 
the  pomps,  pleasures,  and  sins  of  the  world.  But  knowing  of 
whose  fatal  charms  it  once  formed  a  part,  and  whose  subtle, 
scheming,  inexorable  brain  once  wrought  beneath  it,  there 
seemed  something  treacherous  in  its  silken  softness,  something 
deadly  in  its  shining  coil. 

The  great  opera  house,  La  Scala,  is  at  present  closed,  much 
to  our  disappointment. 

We  were  at  one  of  the  theatres  last  night,  and  saw  a 
Eomedy  and  a  very  stupid  ballet.  Italian  acting,  in  general,  is 
Uttle  to  my  taste  ;  it  is  too  feverishly  violent,  too  much  on  th« 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  .  399 

ranting  and  explosive  order,  in  the  tragedy  ;  and  in  comedy 
grotesque  and  absurd,  without  fine  wit  or  genuine  drollery.  I 
am  convinced  that  the  French  are  the  only  perfect  actors  in 
the  world,  simply  because  acting  is  not  acting  with  them  — 
seeming  is  their  only  being,  and  the  artificial  their  only  true. 

Milan  is  yet  under  strict  military  government,  and  swarms 
with  Austrian  troops.  No  citizen  is  allowed  to  be  out  after 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  without  a  permit ;  and  the  carry- 
ing of  any  species  of  arms  is  prohibited  under  penalty  of 
death.  A  complete  system  of  terror  and  tyranny  prevails  ; 
espionage  is  every  where  employed  ;  the  intercepting  of  letters, 
and  packages,  and  domiciliary  visits  are  of  daily  occurrence  ; 
while  the  outgoings  and  incomings  of  persons  falling  under 
the  slightest  suspicion  are  closely  watched  and  dogged.  The 
smallest  group  of  citizens  is  never  to  be  seen  for  more  than  a 
moment  in  the  street ;  all  meetings  without  the  sanction  of  the 
military  are  forbidden  under  severe  penalties  ;  and,  according 
to  the  words  of  the  proclamation,  "  tivo  jnen  constitute  a  meet- 
ing'^ There  is  among  the  people  a  sad  and  ominous  appear- 
ance of  constraint  and  sullen  discontent.  To  my  eye,  they 
show  nothing  of  that  alacrity  of  abjectness  of  which  they  have 
been  accused.  I  see  little  conciliating  show  of  submission. 
Though  many  seem  to  sink  in  the  apathy  of  despair,  more 
seem  to  be  nursing  their  hate  and  their  hope  together,  and 
grinding  their  teeth  with  secret  rage  while  biding  the  time. 
It  is  evident  that  such  are  only  subdued  the  while  that  the 
conqueror's  foot  is  on  their  breasts,  his  steel  at  their  throats. 

It  seems  peculiarly  melancholy  that  such  a  state  of  things 
should  exist  in  Milan,  which  is  admirably  fitted  for  all  the  en- 
joyments of  liberty,  peace,  and  prosperity ;  for  a  life  of  ra- 
tional pleasure,  security,  and  content.  It  is  nobly  planned, 
elegantly  built,  and  neatly  kept ;  altogether  the  handsomest 
town  I  have  seen  in  Italy.  It  is  particularly  rich  in  fine  pub- 
lic gardft'is  and  grounds  ;  and  the  promenade  and  drive  upon 


400  HAPS    AND    MISHAP8. 

the  ramparts  is  unrivalled  for  beauty  and  extent.  We  have 
found  our  evening  drives  there  almost  as  delightful  as  those 
at  Florence.  But  the  gajety  of  the  Cascine  is  sadly  wanting 
here,  where  there  are  fewer  carriages,  riders,  and  pedestrians, 
and  much  less  freedom  and  animation.  The  Austrian  and 
Hungarian  oiRcers  have  the  scene  pretty  much  to  themselves ; 
and  a  fine  show  they  make,  especially  on  horseback,  for  they 
are  matchless  riders.  Their  uniforms  are  strikingly  elegant 
in  style,  fit,  and  decoration  —  the  Hungarian  being  peculiarly 
remarkable  for  a  sort  of  Oriental  gorgeousness  and  grace. 
Nowhere  have  I  seen  such  symmetrical  yet  powerful  figures, 
such  handsome  and  high-borne  heads,  such  a  pride  of  splendid 
manhood.  Ah,  "  the  pity  of  it,"  to  look  on  these  magnificent 
young  men,  and  remember  that  they  are  but  the  tools,  the 
mere  machinery,  of  despotism. 

While  enjoying  the  beautiful  public  walks  and  drives  of  for- 
eign towns,  I  am  made  to  blush  for  the  shameful  penurious- 
ness,  carelessness,  and  lack  of  taste  which  prevents  our  hav- 
ing in  our  own  cities  such  preservers  of  health  and  promoters 
of  pleasure.  Fancy  the  dismay  of  a  foreign  gentleman,  igno- 
rant of  our  miserable  deficiencies  in  this  respect,  who,  on  vis- 
iting New  York  in  the  hot  months,  and  inquiring  for  the  fash- 
ionable drive  and  promenade,  should  be  told  that  that  rich 
young  city  could  boast  of  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  sometimes 
fear  that  a  despotic  government  is  necessary  to  plan  and  exe- 
cute such  works  for  the  people,  to  compel  them  to  benefit 
hon-gre  mal-gre,  by  useful  and  beautifying  improvements. 
Certain  it  is  that  the  smallest  foreign  towns  have  the  advan- 
tage of  our  largest  in  healthful  and  cheerful  places  of  reunion 
and  exercise  in  the  open  air  ;  and  I  am  assured  that,  on  my 
return  home,  I  must  fly  to  the  country  ;  that  I  nevermore 
ghall  he  able  to  endure  the  stifling  closeness  of  our  cities  — 
the  noise,  the  hurry,  the  hot,  unbroken  deserts  of  brick  and 
mortar. 


CHAPTE  R   XYIII. 

i.AXE  Maggiore.  —  IsoLA  Bella.  —  Sanctuario  of  the  ViRonf. — 
Lake  Como.  —  Villa  D'Este.  —  The  Plixiana.  —  Prince  Bel- 
Gioso.  — Pasta's  Cottage  —  Taglioni's.  —  Churches.  —  Bormeo. 
—  Ascent  of  the  Alps.  —  Pass  of  the  Stelvio.  —  The  Ort- 
LER   Spitz.  —  Glaciers.  —  Mals.  — The    Tyrol.  —  Pass    op    the 

FiNSTERMUNZ. A     ShOOTING     MaTCH. CoSTUMES     AND     MaNNERS 

of  the  Tyrolese  Peasants.  —  Innsbruck  and  its  Sights. — 
Tagernsee.  —  Floods.  —  Women  working  in  the  Fields.  —  Mu- 
vicH.  —  The  Royal  Palace.  —  Pictures.  —  Lola  Montes.  —  Gal- 
leries VND  Churches.  —  Colossal  Statue  of  Bavaria.  —  The 
OvERA.    -  The  King  and  Queen. 

Varese,  June  5. 

"We  reached  this  pkice,  about  thirty  miles  north-west  of 
Milan,  yesterday  evening,  travelling  by  vettura,  through  a 
rich,  well-cultivated,  but  rather  uninteresting  country.  Yarese 
is  a  city  of  little  importance  and  less  beauty  ;  but  its  environs 
are  pleasant,  and  adorned  with  many  fine  villas  belonging  to 
wealthy  Milanese.  This  morning  we  drove  over  to  Laveno, 
on  Lake  Maggiore,  where  we  took  a  row  boat,  and  visited  the 
celebrated  Isola  Bella. 

On  our  drive,  we  passed  the  small  Lake  of  Varese,  an  ex- 
quisite sheet  of  water ;  and  from  that  point  the  scenery,  which 
had  all  along  been  charming  and  varied,  became  grandly 
beautiful.  In  the  distance  loomed  up  the  Alps,  the  higher 
range  lifting  their  mighty  heads  above  the  clouds,  and  chal- 
lenging the  sun  with  their  flashing  snow  crowns  ;  while  the 
lower  range,  clad  in  the  softest  summer  verdure,  comforted 
the  eye,  struck  back  by  the  white  radiance  above.  At  their 
feet  slept  the  lake,  mirroring  a  sky  of  deepest  azure,  and 
34*  (401) 


402  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

clouds  of  silver,  rose,  and  gold  —  in  all  a  scene  equally  en 
chanting  and  imposing,  and  heightening  in  beauty  and  sub- 
limity as  we  approached,  till  we  past^id  from  that  surprised 
delight,  which   utters  itself  in  glowing   exclamations,   to   the 
silence  of  a  deep,  almost  reverential,  emotion. 

I  did  not  look  to  find  the  shores  of  Lake  Maorgiore  so  wild  ats 
they  are  ;  so  like  those  of  one  of  our  own  small  we>:*ern  lakes,  but 
thickly  dotted  with  vilhjis  and  hamlets,  and  bearing  marks  of  the 
highest  state  of  cultivation.  Aside  from  the  small  town  ol 
Baveno  and  the  Borromean  islands,  the  view  from  Laveno 
struck  me  as  almost  desolate,  as  far  as  human  life  is  concerned. 
Only  here  and  there  is  to  be  seen  a  villa,  a  cottage,  or  a  lonely 
chapel  in  a  mountain  gorge ;  while  every  where  foliage,  flow- 
ers, grasses,  and  even  grain,  seem  growing  in  spontaneous 
luxuriance  —  Nature  working  her  own  sweet  will,  and  having 
her  own  wild  way,  untrammelled  by  the  prudent  cares  and 
staid  proprieties  of  art. 

In  the  midst  of  this  primitive  loneliness  and  loveliness  lies 
the  Isola  Bella,  a  quaint,  elaborate,  and  wonderful  creation  of 
art,  for  which  Nature  only  furnished  the  bare  foundations. 
For  this  fairy  island,  this  enchanted  garden,  luxuriant  with  all 
the  fruits  and  smiling  with  all  the  flowers  of  the  tropics,  now 
rising  terrace  above  terrace,  crowded  with  statues,  grottoes, 
temples,  and  crowned  by  a  noble  palace,  was  once  a  black, 
barren  rock,  standing  but  a  few  feet  out  of  the  water,  an  un- 
siglitly  blot  on  its  blue  expanse.  A  Count  Borromeo,  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  was  the  creator  of  this  somewhat  j)riin 
paradise,  which,  for  the  peculiar  taste  displayed  in  it,  and  the 
immenie  sums  expended  upon  it,  has  been  pronounced  but  a 
magnificent  conceit  and  a  gigantic  extravagance.  Every  fool 
of  earth  was  brought  from  a  distance,  and  piled  up  to  make 
these  terraces  and  gardens  ;  while  the  trees,  plants,  and  flow- 
ers were  gathered  from  almost  every  country  and  clime  of  tht 
world.     The  descendants  of  the  founder  have  added  greatly  to 


A    TOUR    IN^   EUROPfc.  403 

the  beauly  of  the  phice  by  careful  cuhivation  and  new  varie 
ties  of  trees  and  plants  ;  and,  as  you   now  see  it,  flourishing, 
and  flowering,  and  fruit-ripening,  under  the  very  ice  glare  of 
the  Alps,  it  is  something  marvellous  and  magical  —  a  beauti- 
ful bewilderment. 

It  is  so  strange,  when  wandering  among  cypresses,  palms, 
pomegranates,  myrtles,  oranges,  and  lemons,  to  catch  through 
the  opening  branches  a  glimpse  of  the  eternal  snow ;  to  feel 
yourself  grow  languid  and  half  intoxicated  in  the  oppressive 
sun  and  aromatic  atmosphere  of  some  sheltered  spot ;  and  the 
next  moment,  in  turning  some  exposed  corner,  to  be  smitten 
on  the  cheek  by  a  sharp  wind  from  the  glaciers. 

During  the  winter,  all  these  gardens  and  terraces  are 
boarded  over  and  heated  by  stoves. 

We  were  shown  through  the  palace,  which,  for  the  situa- 
tion,, is  of  vast  dimensions,  but  built  in  a  curious,  clumsy, 
grotesque  style.  It  contains  many  bad  and  a  few  good  pic- 
tures, all  rapidly  becoming  equahzed  and  confounded  by 
ruinous  damp  and  mould. 

We  were  shown  the  room  in  which  Napoleon  slept  while 
here,  and  in  the  garden  a  large  bay  tree,  in  the  bark  of  which 
he  carved  the  word  "  hattagliar  I  must  confess  I  could  not 
clearly  make  out  a  letter,  but  I  had  faith  to  believe  they  were 
all  there.  It  was  a  short  time  before  the  battle  of  Marengo 
that  the  great  king-maker  and  un-maker,  in  a  moment  of 
brooding  idleness,  cut  that  word  there  —  a  word  as  significant 
of  his  future  as  was  his  dying  "  tete  cfarmee  1 "  of  his  past. 

The  drive  from  the  lake  back  to  Varese,  in  the  pleasant 
afternoon,  hung  some  sunset  pictures  in  my  memory  which 
must  illuminate  it  forever.  In  that  gallery  hang  many  of  the 
most  glorious  works  of  human  genius  ;  yet  these  can  never  be 
confo;'<inded  with  those  bearing  in  every  faintest  outline,  in 
every  lightest  shade,  the  unmistakable  Deus  fecit  of  the  great 
master. 


404  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

COMO,  JUNE  7. 

This  morning  we  sat  out  early  from  Varese,  to  make  the 
ascent  to  the  Sanctuario  of  the  Virgin,  from  which  we  were 
assured,  by  our  universally-read  friend  Murray,  we  should 
have  unrivalled  views  of  the  plain  of  Lombardy  and  of  the 
Alps,  and  could  look  down  upon  no  less  than  six  lakes.     This 
holy  mountain  was  consecrated  to  the  Madonna  by  St.  Am- 
brose, in  397,  to  commemorate  a  victory  gained  by  him  over 
the  Arians.     It  is  ascended  by  a  steep,  winding  road,  well 
paved,  but  suitable  only  for  pedestrians  and  ponies.     At  differ- 
ent points  along  this  way  stand  fourteen  chapels,  representing 
the  fourteen  mysteries  of  the  rosary.     These  are  very  pictu- 
resque objects,  and  so  placed  as  to  command  charming  views 
of  valleys,  mountains,  and  lakes.     At  the  summit  is  a  church, 
a   bell    tower,   and    a   convent    of  Augustinian    nuns.       We 
mounted  our  ponies  at  Robarello  with  glowing  anticipations 
of  the  feast  of  beauty  to  be  spread  before  us  when  we  should 
have  scaled  the  holy  heights ;  we  would  scarcely  indulge  our- 
selves in  a  glimpse  from  the  various  points  of  the  ascent,  for 
fear  of  taking  the  edge  off  our  appetites.     But  unluckily,  on 
reaching  the  summit,  we  found  a  heavy  mist  settling  there, 
rolling   in   great  billows   down   the  sides  of  the   neighboring 
mountains,  floating  over  the  plain,  and  dimly  veihng  the  dis- 
tant Alps.     Hoping  that  it  would  soon  pass  off,  we  went  into 
the  church,  where  we  saw  the  statue  of  the  Virgin,  dating  from 
the  time  of  St.  Ambrose,  and  the  mummies  of  two  female 
saints,  who  lie  in  glass  coffins,  dressed  in  rich  robes,  with  their 
blackened   skulls   and    their   fleshless   throats   glittering  with 
ornaments,  and  their  skeleton  fingers  loaded  with  gaudy  lings. 
Of  course,  a  considerable  fee  is  asked  for  this  hideous  show ; 
so  doubtless  these  holy  women  have  done  better  service  to 
their  church  and  convent  as  mummies  than  as  lady  abbesses 
—  a  sort  oi  post  mortem  patronage,  too  monstrous  and  revolt- 
ing for  any  but  this  system  of  religion  to  exact.     On  coming 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  405 

out  of  the  ch.rcli,  we  found  that  it  was  all  up  with  us,  as  far 
as  the  prospect  was  concerned.  The  mist  had  thickened  into 
heavy  clouds ;  there  was  a  real  storm  below  us  at  our  right, 
the  thunders  of  which  seemed  breakin<]f  and  booming  against 
the  mountain. 

Here  was  a  prospect  of  something  new  and  grand  for  us ; 
but  I  must  confess  that  we  all  ingloriously  fled  before  the 
prospect  of  the  sublime  drenching,  and  were  happy  in  reaching 
the  inn  and  our  carriage  in  a  tolerably  dry  condition.  The 
rain  was  soon  past,  and  we  had  a  charming  time  lor  di  tving 
over  to  Como. 

We  cauglit  not  even  a  glimpse  of  the  lake  till  we  were  just 
upon  it,  at  our  hotel,  from  which  we  have  a  beautiful  though 
rather  circumscribed  view.  But  since  dinner  we  have  taken 
an  hour's  row  upon  it  in  the  sunset,  and  I  have  found  that  all 
the  most  glowing  picturings  of  poets,  all  my  own  most  delicious 
summer  dreams,  have  fallen  far  behind  the  varied  and  won- 
drous loveliness  of  the  scene.  The  beauty  of  Lake  Como  and 
its  shores  is  sometiiing  so  peculiar,  so  complete,  so  heavenly,  it 
is  almost  as  unimaginable  as  indescribable.  It  seems  that 
Nature  has  prodigally  exhausted  here  the  treasury  of  her 
richest  charms,  and  levelled  in  lavishing  her  utmost  wealth  of 
adornment;  while  Art,  in  fond  emulation,  has  wrought  out  all 
her  most  exquisite  fancies,  her  daintiest  devices  —  tried  all  her 
golden  secrets  of  effect,  and  come  down  with  all  her  choicest 
points.  Certain  it  is,  that,  with  their  united  enchantments, 
they  overflow  the  soul  with  the  very  flood^de  of  delight,  and 
leave  nothing  more  to  be  asked  or  imagined  by  the  most  deli- 
cate and  luxurious  sense  of  beauty. 

June  9. 

We  spent  the  whole  of  the  morning  yesterday  on  the  lake, 

and  in  visiting  some  of  the  most  celebrated  villas  along  the 

shores.     Our  first  landing  was  at  the  Villa  D'Este,  owned  and 

occupied  for  several  years  by  Queen  Caroline,  of  Brunswick. 


406  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

It  is  a  r.lmrming  place,  and  the  gardens  and  grounds  do  much 
honor  to  the  taste  of  the  unhappy  princess  who  planned  them. 
We  passed  the  Villa  Lenno,  supposed  to  stand  on  the  sight  of 
Pliny's  Villa,  and  stopped  at  the  Pliniana,  so  named  for  a 
curious  natural  fountain  which  the  Elder  Pliny  described  in  a 
letter.  This  villa,  which  is  gloriously  situated  for  views  up 
and  down  the  lake,  and  whose  grounds  are  most  picturesque 
and  wildly  beautiful,  is  the  property  of  Prince  Belgioso,  a 
gentleman  distinguished  throughout  all  the  European  courts 
for  his  many  elegant  accomplishments,  for  beauty,  talent,  and 
especially  for  a  fine  musical  genius.  He  has  led,  for  many 
years,  the  gay  and  purposeless  life  of  a  mere  man  of  pleasure'; 
yet  it  may  be  he  is  not  wholly  without  excuse,  for  the  Austri- 
an government  jealously  shuts  out  the  Italian  nobility  from 
every  career  of  honor  and  power. 

♦•  The  Prince  was  younger  once  than  he  is  now ; 
And  handsomer,  of  course." 

Yet  he  is  a  very  fine-looking  man  still,  and  wears  his  first 
snows  lightly.  He  has  much  the  air  of  an  English  gentleman, 
and  speaks  our  language  very,  purely,  with  the  slightest  pos- 
sible accent 

Pasta's  cottage  is  small  and  simple,  but  very  pretty,  and 
surroun<ied  by  the  loveliest  garden,  and  flanked  by  the  most 
luxuriant  grounds  along  the  lake.  She  plans  and  super- 
intends all  the  building,  planting,  and  improvements  ;  finding, 
after  the  splendid  triumphs  and  ceaseless  excitements  of  her 
dramatic  career,  rest  and  happiness  in  such  quiet  and  primi- 
tive pleasures.  The  most  exquisite  taste  is  shown  in  laying 
out  her  grounds  and  gardens,  which  extend  for  more  than 
a  mile  along  the  siiore.  Here  we  saw  the  grandest  trees,  the 
richest  vines,  the  most  wonderful  profusion  of  flowers.  There 
were  gorgeous  rose  trees  growing  from  apparently  inaccessible 
rocks,  or  twining  about  dark  cypresses,  forming  the  loveliest 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  407 

conti-ast  conceivable,  or  hanging  over  the  wall,  showering  their 
leaves  upon  the  water  —  there  were  graceful  willows,  that, 
Undine-like,  bent  lovingly  to  dip  their  limbs  in  the  lake,  and 
timid  silver-leaved  aspens,  that  stood  back  shivering  —  there 
were  copper  beaches  and  golden  jasmine  —  O,  there  was  every 
thing  to  form  a  paradise  of  beauty  and  repose,  before  whose 
gate  my  spirit  sighed  like  the  poor  hopeless  peri  she  is.  As 
we  floated  slowly  past  the  most  wooded  part  of  these  grounds, 
the  favorite  walk  of  Pasta,  we  heard  tha  nightingales  singing 
in  the  deepest  shade  under  the  hill,  and  far  sweeter  we  fancied 
than  elsewhere,  as  though  they  had  been  taught  by  her. 

The  cotta:;e  of  Taglioni  is  also  small,  but  ornate  and  fanci- 
ful ;  and  the  grounds,  though  very  beautiful,  display  some 
pretty  conceits  and  dainty  caprices,  which  strike  you  as  in 
character  with  a  sylph  of  the  stage  and  a  ballet  queen. 
Madame  Taglioni  has  two  other  cottages  in  these  grounds — • 
one,  a  charming  little  box,  perched  up  against  a  rock,  like  a 
Bwallow's  nest;  the  other,  a  Swiss  chalet,  yet  unfinished,  and 
it  is  said  capriciously  abandoned.  By  these,  and  her  three 
fine  palaces  at  Venice,  it  would  seem  that  she  has  pirouetted  to 
gome  purpose.  Ah,  happy  is  the  woman  whose  genius  lodges 
in  her  throat  or  settles  in  her  heels !  She  may  command 
success,  wealth,  power ;  she  may  attain  to  cottages  ornees  and 
palaces  by  the  sea ;  along  her  path  sighs  the  homage  of  the 
world  ;  and  at  her  feet,  all  unregarded,  lies  more  of  man's  love, 
such  as  it  is,  than  ever  rewarded  the  pure  and  faithful  affec- 
tion, the  devotion  unto  death,  of  all  the  women  of  mere  intel- 
lect and  soul  that  ever  existed. 

Como  itself  is  a  pleasant  little  city,  very  clean  and  airy  for 
an  Italian  town.  It  has  fallen  off  somewhat  in  its  manufac- 
tures and  general  prosperity  of  late  years,  but  there  is  still  a 
pleaiiing  appearance  of  industry  and  comfort  among  its  people. 
It  has  no  buildings  of  any  importance  except  the  Cathedral, 


408  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

which  is  very  fine,  but  contains  few  objects  of  interest. ,  In  the 
gloomy  old  Church  of  San  Fidele,  which  I  have  just  visited, 
my  guide  pointed  out  to  me  a  dark  chapel,  into  which  I  looked 
through  a  black  lattice.  It  was  only  lit  by  one  low,  flickering 
lamp,  and  I  was  some  moments  ere  I  could  distinguish  the  ob- 
jects it  held ;  then  I  saw  a  ghastly  figure  of  Christ  on  the 
Cross,  surmounting  a  Calvary  of  skulls  —  a  horrible  sight;  yet 
how  immeasurably  was  the  horror  increased  when  I  was  told 
that  these  were  all  the  skulls  of  murderers ! 

BORMEO,  IN  THE  ALPS,  JUNE   11. 

We  left  Como  yesterday  morning,  by  steamer,  for  Colico, 
on  the  upper  end  of  the  lake;  from  whence  we  posted  to  Son- 
drio,  and  from  Sondrio  to  this  place.  The  summer  seems 
really  to  have  come  at  last ;  and  the  weather,  for  this  region, 
is  dehcious.  The  water  excursion  of  yesterday  was  incom- 
parably delightful,  with  soft  sunlight  and  balmy  airs,  the  ut- 
most richness  of  verdure  and  bloom,  mountain  and  rock,  and 
cascade ;  and  the  lake  itself,  with  its  picturesque  windings,  and 
infinite  varieties,  and  surprises  of  beauty ;  in  its  serene  repose 
as  blue,  profound,  and  waveless  as  the  heaven  it  imaged. 

We  had  yesterday  a  flat  drive  of  little  interest;  but  to-day 
we  have  ascended  somewhat,  and  have  just  entered  upon  the 
Stelvio,  the  grandest  of  all  the  Alpine  passes.  Bormeo  is  a 
quiet,  quaint  little  \  illage,  very  gray,  and  somewhat  gloomy, 
almost  completely  shut  in  by  mountains  piny  and  ice-capped. 
The  people  seem  poor,  but-  not  by  any  means  miserably  so; 
they  have,  towards  strangers,  a  peculiarly  cordial  yet  respect- 
ful air ;  and  they  are  usually  fine  looking,  though  the  throats 
of  many  of  them  are  disfigured  by  the  goitre.  We  find  that 
the  pass  of  the  Stelvio,  which  is  the  highest  on  the  continent, 
is  but  just  opened,  and  that  we  shall  be  absolutely  the  pioneers. 

To-morrow  we  are  to  make  the  ascent,  and,  if  we  are  not 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE,  409 

blocked  up  by  the  snow  or  borne  away  by  an  avalanche  ere 
we  reach  the  summit,  may  have  all  our  wildest  imaginings  of 
the  grand  and  the  terrific  in  scenery  abundantly  realized. 

Landeck^  in  tms  Tyrol,  June  13. 

"We  left  Bormeo  yesterday  morning  at  half  past  six,  in  con 
siderable  state  for  so  small  a  party,  travelling  with  two  car- 
riages and  a  baggage  wagon.  Even  at  that  early  hour,  all  th^. 
villagers  were  out  to  see  us  off  and  wish  us  a  good  journey. 
Some  looked  a  httle  doubtful  and  apprehensive;  but  the 
greater  part  cheered  us  on.  The  ascent  for  the  first  two  posts 
was  gradual,  but  continuous ;  and,  almost  ere  we  were  aware, 
we  found  ourselves  in  a  new,  strange  world,  bleak,  and  bare, 
and  stern,  and  grand  to  absolute  awfulness.  Higher  and 
liightr  we  crept  up  the  pass,  above  a  black,  winding  gorge, 
whose  bed  was  piled  with  the  shdes  and  avalanches  of  the 
winter  and  spring,  and  down  whose  sides  leaped  milky  cas- 
cades, from  immense  masses  of  snow  melting  in  a  fervid  sun, 
till  we  reached  the  region  where  all  vegetation  ceases,  where, 
amid  the  rocks  and  ice,  not  even  the  pine  can  clinch  in  his 
hardy  roots,  and  found  ourselves  breathing  painfully  in  the 
rarefied  air  of  perpetual  snow. 

The  road  of  the  Stelvio  is  the  most  stupendous  work  I  ever 
beheld  ;  and,  all  along,  my  wonder  and  admiration  were  di- 
vided between  it  and  the  sublime  scenery  through  which  it 
winds.  It  rounds  perilous  points,  pierces  great  rocks,  passes 
under  and  over  torrents,  leaps  yawning  chasms,  and  skirts  the 
most  appaUing  precipices.  Over  the  portions  most  exposed  to 
slides  and  avalanches  are  constructed  galleries  of  solid  ma- 
sonry, with  slanting  roofs  ;  and  it  has  sometimes  happened 
that  great  masses  of  snow  and  earth  have  here  passed  over 
the  traveller's  head,  and  gone  plunging  and  crashing  into  the 

gulf  below.     Miss  W and  myself,  who  travelled  together 

in  a  little  open  carriage,  expressed  to  one  another,  on  setting 
35 


41U  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

Dut,  a  desire  to  be  thundered  over  by  a  small  avalancht 
in  this  manner;  but  no  sooner  did  we  find  ourselves  in  one  of 
the  dark  and  ominous  galleries  than  we  mutually  confessed 
that  such  an  experience  would  be  a  superfluity  of  the  sublime  ; 
and  our  disinclination  towards  it  deepened  into  something  very 
like  horror  as  we  came  upon  a  gallery  recently  broken  in  by 
an  avalanche,  and  on  the  outside  of  which  we  were  obliged  to 
pass  by  a  newly-constructed  bridge. 

We  dined  at  Santa  Maria,  the  frontier  posthouse,  before  ft 
roaring  fire,  in  a  snug  little  chamber  which  looked  out  over  a 
vast  sea  of  snowy  mountain  tops.  From  this  to  the  last  post- 
bouse,  Franzenhohe,  the  highest  habitation  on  the  continent, 
nearly  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  the  road 
was  cut  through  fields  of  solid  snow,  which  walled  it  on  both 
aides,  except  when  it  ran  along  the  edge  of  precipices,  to  the 
depth  of  eight,  ten,  and  sometimes  fifteen  and  twenty  feet. 
This  was  rather  terrific,  surely ;  but  not  until  we  had  passed 
the  summit,  and  began  the  descent,  did  we  perceive  the  ut- 
most sublimity  and  the  peril  of  the  pass. 

Before  us  towered  the  Ortler  Spitz,  in  height  the  third 
mountain  of  the  Alpine  range,  with  his  rough  sides  clad  in  a 
mail  of  glaciers,  and  avalanches  impending  on  his  awful  front ; 
while  on  every  side,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  rose  Alps 
on  Alps,  snow-capped  and  ice-sheathed,  strange,  dread,  tre- 
mendous shapes,  which  seem  sternly  battling  up  through  the 
clouds  to  besiege  heaven  ;  or  rather,  are  like  the  vast  broken 
billows  of  a  frozen  hell.  For  the  fiist  mile  or  two  of  the  de- 
scent we  faced  real  dangers,  to  which  not  even  the  grandeur 
of  the  scene  could  render  us  wholly  indifferent.  There  were 
many  places  where  the  railing  had  been  torn  away  between 
'be  road  and  the  precipice,  and  where  a  slip  or  a  swerve  of 
our  horses  Mould  have  been  our  destruction;  while,  at  any 
moment,  we  were  liable  to  be  overwhelmed  by  a  slide  of  the 
melting  masses  of  snow  piled  along  our  way,  and  to  be  swept 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  411 

flown  a  thousand  feet  into  the  gorge  below.  At  one  time  we 
were  obliged  to  wait  while  the  workmen,  of  which  there  wer« 
a  large  number  near  the  summit  of  the  pass,  cleared  away  a 
filide  which  had  come  down  within  the  hour.  But,  thank  God, 
we  accomplished  the  descent  without  the  slightest  accident,  and 
about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  stopped  to  take  rest  and 
refreshment  at  the  first  posthouse  on  this  side  the  Alps,  in  one 
of  the  wildest  yet  loveliest  valleys  of  the  Tyrol.  It  was  com- 
pletely  walled  round  by  snowy  mountains,  and  coursed  through 
by  a  swift  and  swollen  stream  ;  yet  it  was  most  luxuriant  and 
peaceful,  carpeted  by  the  richest  turf,  enamelled  with  flowers 
in  wonderful  varieties  and  profusion.  At  the  inn  we  met  a 
young  gentleman  and  lady  who  were  to  cross  the  Alps  on  foot, 
intending  to  make  Santa  Maria  that  night ;  if 'they  reached 
the  summit  house,  they  did  wonders.  They  were  a  newly- 
married  pair,  treating  themselves  to  a  little  pedestrian  wedding 
tour  from  Berlii^  to  Milan,  accompanied  by  a  single  servant, 
in  handsome  livery,  bearing  a  portmanteau.  They  seemed 
strong  and  fearless,  and  were  certainly  yerj  merry ;  but  I  can- 
not believe  they  had  a  "realizing  sense"  of  what  was  before 
them  on  that  pass  of  the  Stelvio.  Mark  Tapley  himself 
could  never  have  desired  finer  opportunities  of  being  "jolly 
under  creditable  circumstances  "  than  were  enjoyed  by  these 
enamoured  adventurers  during  that  ascent. 

At  Mais  I  spent  my  first  night  in  a  Tyrolese  inn.  I  do  not 
say  slept,  for  I  found  that  the  novel  excitements  and  over- 
whelming emotions  of  the  day  had  "  murdered  sleep  ; "  and  I 
tossed  in  sublime  recollections,  and  toiled  up  mountainous 
imaginations,  and  hung  over  chasms  and  torrents  all  night  long. 
Perhaps  ray  first  experience  of  a  German  bed  may  have  had 
something  to  do  with  my  sleeplessness.  I  found  myself  very 
unsteadily  posed  on  what  seemed  to  be  an  overstuffed  bolster, 
laid  lengthwise,  between  two  mere  strips  of  linen,  which 
wound  about  me  hke  bandages,  upon  a  pillow  of  most  dispro 


412  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

portionate  size,  a  sort  of  supplementary  bed,  indeed,  and  unier 
a  down  coverlet,  which  w^ouldn't  keep  down  in  its  place,  but 
was  constantly  on  the  wing.  Such  a  remarkable  tendency  had 
all  the  coverings  to  fall  and  fly  off,  so  rounded  and  roUirg  was 
the  couch  itself,  that  I  had  a  curious  feeling  that  the  whole 
affair  revolved,  and  could  never  tell,  positively,  whether  I  was 
on  the  bed  or  under.  But  the  compactness,  the  cheerful 
brightness,  and  perfect  cleanliness  of  a  German  inn,  after  the 
forlorn  vastness,  the  darkness  and  filth,  of  the  ordinary  Italian 
albergo,  is  more  comforting  and  refreshing  than  I  can  tell. 
The  people  in  attendance,  though  slower  in  wit  and  movement 
than  Italian  landlords  and  waiters,  are  more  sure  and  satisfac- 
tory ;  and,  though  they  do  not  welcome  the  traveller  with  such 
a  gracious  show  of  hospitality,  or  take  leave  of  him  with  such 
an  affluent  expression  of  good  feeling,  yet  manifest  as  much 
cordiality  as  is  reasonable  and  will  pay;  and ^ at  parting,  take 
their  pipes  out  of  their  mouths  long  enough  to  address  him  a 
farewell  sentence,  which  sounds  somewhat  too  grum  and  gut- 
tural to  ears  pampered  by  the  delicious  Tuscan,  yet  which,  if 
he  does  not  understand,  he  takes  for  granted  is  something  very 
civil,  and  withal  sincere. 

To-day  we  have  been  posting  fi-om  hamlet  to  hamlet, 
through  some  of  the  wildest  and  most  beautiful  valleys  of  the 
Tyrol. 

During  the  morning  we  suddenly  plunged  into  the  pass  of 
the  Finstermunz,  the  darkest,  dreariest,  most  appalling  gorge 
I  ever  beheld.  I  walked  through  it  some  two  miles,  apart 
from  my  friends,  that  I  might  feel  to  the  utmost  the  grandeur, 
the  loneliness,  the  desolate  horror  of  the  scene.  It  did  not 
seem  like  a  natural  pass,  but  a  fearful  chasm,  wliere  the  rocks 
had  been  violently  cleft  asunder  —  a  narrow  gulf,  black  and 
profound,  overhung  by  barren  and  icy  mountains,  and  with  an 
angry  torrent  roaring  and  raging  hundreds  of  feet  below  the 
road,  which  wound  along  rocky  ledges,  close  upon  frightful 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  413 

precipices.  The  day  was  stormy,  and  the  winds  came  shriek- 
ing and  howling  down  the  pass  like  an  invisible  array  of 
fiends,  rattling  down  small  slate  stones  upon  us,  and  whirling 
us  along  in  a  tremendous  cloud  of  dust.  Yet  when-ever  I 
reached  a  sheltered  spot  where  I  could  pause  and  look  back, 
below,  above,  my  very  soul  revelled  in  that  stern,  defiant  deso- 
lation, in  that  black,  embattled  array  of  craggy  steeps,  in  the 
hoarse  roar  of  the  torrent,  even  in  tlie  rush  and  surge  of  the 
winds  and  the  boding  moan  of  the  rising  storm. 

I  cannot  tell  with  what  a  sense  of  exultation  I  hoard  away 
the  experiences  of  the  last  two  days.  I  have  been  with  Na- 
ture in  her  most  secret  and  solemn  haunts.  I  have  been  with 
God  upon  the  "everlasting  hills;"  and  the  grand  scenes  there 
graved  upon  my  soul,  and  the  conceptions  of  the  infinite  it 
(here  boldly  grasped,  are  its  eternal  possession.  I  know  that 
no  wildest  flood  of  sorrow,  no  utmost  shock  of  misfortune,  can 
sweep  away  or  destnoy  them  now,  and  that  they  will  help  to 
lift  me  to  that  purer  region,  where  the  passionate  human  heart 
is  stilled,  where  the  spirit  only  lives,  where  the  "  mortal  puts 
on  immortality." 

INXSBRUCK,  June  15. 

We  reached  this  city  last  evening,  after  a  very  pleasant 
day's  journey  through  picturesque  Tyrolese  valleys.  At  Imst, 
a  village  shut  in  by  mountains,  we  found  a  large  gathering  of 
the  peasants  at  an  annual  shooting  match.  We  spent  a  half 
hour  on  the  ground,  when  we  saw  some  admirable  shots,  and 
had  a  fine  opportunity  of  seeing  the  costumes  of  this  part  of 
the  Tyrol.  Some  of  these  mountaineers  are  splendid-looking 
men,  compactly  and  powerfully  built,  and  displaying  their 
strength  to  fine  advantage  in  the  management  of  their  rifles, 
which  are  immensely  heavy,  but  which  they  lift  and  level  as 
though  they  were  reeds. 

We  noticed  several  gentlemen  mingling  in  the  sport,  and 
35* 


414  HAPJ^    AND    3IISHAPS    OF 

trying  their  skill  with  the  peasants,  and  one  priest,  who  seemetJ 
full  of  the  spirit  of  the  occasion,  and  was  an  excellent  shot. 

I  really  venerate  that  reverend  father,  for  he  is  almost  the 
only  one  of  his  class  I  have  seen,  since  I  came  abroad,  whose 
manhood  does  not  seem  utterly  smothered  by  his  gown. 

The  costumes  of  the  Tyrolese  men  are  not  very  handsome, 
but  are  suitable  and  manly.  The  greater  part  of  the  dress  of 
the  women  is  also  admirable ;  but  some  of  them  wear  a  high, 
heavy  hat,  of  black  fur,  like  a  grenadier's  cap,  which  is  quite 
hideous  and  senseless.  The  children,  in  dress  and  air,  are 
reduced  men  and  women  —  the  quaintest,  quietest,  absurdest 
little  creatures  imaginable. 

All  the  men  and  boys  smoke  ;  all  the  women  and  girls  work 
in  the  fields.  I  saw  a  young  woman,  a  day  or  two  since,  cut- 
ting hay  in  a  broiling  sun,  while  her  husband  lounged  under  a 
tree  and  tended  the  baby ;  and  yesteidny  we  overtook  two 
women,  toiling  up  a  hill,  actually  harnessed  to  a  heavy  cart 
with  a  donkey.  Yet  they  seem  happy  enough,  and  show  no 
signs  of  extreme  degradation  or  poverty. 

With  almost  every  step  now,  I  feel  myself  in  a  completely 
different  world  from  the  one  I  left  on  the  sunnier  side  of  the 
Alps.  I  miss  the  splendor  of  the  skies,  the  soft,  luxuriant 
beauty  of  the  landscapes  of  Italy.  I  miss  the  large,  dark, 
languid  eyes,  the  wealth  of  raven  hair,  the  glow  of  the  olive 
>skins,  and  the  sweet,  melodious  tongue  of  her  people.  But  I 
miss  also  the  decay,  the  degeneracy,  the  want,  and  the  wrong 
of  that  land,  and  the  hopeless  indolence,  the  dumb  despair, 
of  that  people.  The  Tyrolese  are  content  —  it  may  be  from 
ignorance  and  stupidity,  but  still  content;  while  the  Italians, 
secretly  burning  for  vengeance  and  for  freedom,  find  their 
hands  pinioned,  and  feel  their  hot  hearts  ground  under  the  iron 
heel  of  oppression. 

This  is  the  most  loyal  and  devotional  part  of  the  Tyrol. 


A   TOUR    IN    EUKOPE.  41«5 

You  see  in  every  house  a  portrait  of  the  young  Emperor,  and 
any  number  of  sacred  prints,  crucifixes,  and  receptacles  for 
holy  water.  The  wayside  shrines  and  figures  of  Christ,  of 
which  there  are  great  numbers,  are  of  the  rudest  character  — • 
many  of  them  utterly  revolting.  I  saw  to-day  a  full-length 
Christ  on  the  Cross,  which  had  been  ingeniously  put  to  use  as 
a,  fountain,  a  water  pipe  coming  out  of  the  wound  in  the  side. 
You  often  see  this  figure  wreathed  with  flowers,  and  hung 
about  with  a  strange  variety  of  toy-like  offerings. 

Innsbruck  is  a  well-built,  cheerful  town,  on  the  River  Inn, 
in  a  charming  valley,  encompassed  by  mountains,  which, 
though  not  high,  are  yet  crowned  with  snow. 

Thpre  are  very  few  regular  sights  at  Innsbruck,  yet  we  find 
it  a  very  agreeable  resting-place.  In  the  Cathedral  is  the 
famous  monument  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian,  a  handsome 
and  curious  work ;  some  bronze  statues,  which  are  very  won- 
derful for  the  time  from  which  they  date;  and  the  tomb  of 
Hofer,  the  eloquent  Tyrolese  peasant  leader,  who  was  shot  at 
Mantua,  by  the  order  of  Napoleon.  There  is  a  fine  monument, 
surmounted  by  a  statue  of  Hofer,  erected  over  his  grave  by 
the  late  emperor. 

We  have  visited  several  other  churches,  which  we  found 
rich  and  light,  but  rather  too  gaudy  in  their  decorations  —  and 
a  portion  of  the  Capuchin  convent,  a  grim  suite  of  apart- 
ments, elaborately  rough  and  rude,  where  the  Emperor  Max-« 
imilian  yearly  retired  to  spend  the  forty  days  of  Lent  in 
prayer  and  mortification.  It  would  be  odd  enough  to  see  the 
present  youthful  Kaiser  take  up  this  saintly  role.  The  palace,  a 
singularly  plain,  republican-looking  edifice,  contains  nothing  of 
interest  except  a  large  number  of  portraits  of  the  royal  family 
of  Austria*  It  is  curious  that  among  them  all  there  is  but  one 
really  beautiful  face  —  that  of  poor  Marie  Antoinette.  There  * 
is  also  an  interesting  museum  here,  with  a  small  gallery  of 
mcvdern  pictures,  mostly  by  Tyrolese  artists  —  which  sight! 


416  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

we  have  duly  done.  In  addition,  we  have  driven  out  into  tbc 
country,  and  saw  the  town  from  the  heights,  where  it  shows 
small,  but  looks  what  it  is  —  a  snug,  quiet,  unpretending 
respectable  old  place. 

TAGERNSKEy    BaVARIA,    JUNE    18. 

We  left  Innsbruck  on  the  morning  of  the  16th,  for  Munich, 
by  the  way  of  the  Achenthalsee  and  the  Tagernsee,  two 
lovely  mountain  lakes.  But  we  have  had  little  enjoyment  of 
picturesque  scenery  along  the  route,  as  we  have  come  thus 
far  in  a  heavy  and  incessant  rain.  The  mountains  have  been 
wrapped  in  mist,  the  streams  black  and  angry,  the  road  in  places 
overflowed,  and  the  valleys  having  every  where  a  drenched, 
half-drowned  look,  doleful  to  the  last  degree.  Here  we  are  de- 
tained for  a  day  or  two  by  the  flood  and  the  destruction  of  a 
bridge.  We  are  fortunately  in  very  comfortable  quarters  at 
a  well-kept  inn,  on  the  lake.  The  only  objection  to  the  house 
is  in  its  peculiar  water  privileges.  The  lake  rose  rapidly  last 
ni«rht.  I  heard  the  waves  sur";ino:  ao;ainst  the  foundations  of 
the  building,  and  bringing  pieces  of  floating  timber  to  bear 
upon  them  like  battering  rams  ;  and  I  went  to  sleep  at  last  with 
the  not  over-comfortable  consciousness  that  I  might  find  my- 
self off  on  a  little  aquatic  excursion  before  morning.  To- 
day we  are  nearly  surrounded  by  water,  and  the  first  part  of 
the  road  towards  Munich  has  quite  disappeared.  Yet,  though 
Jt  still  rains  steadily,  the  flood  is  not  now  rising  very  fast. 

This  morning  we  have  been  to  the  villao;e  church  to  witness 
the  rite  of  confirmation  by  the  Archbishop.  There,  was  a 
great  gathering  of  the  peasants,  and  an  unusual  show  of  cos- 
tumes on  the  occasion.  The  confirmees  came  out  very  gayly, 
tlie  heads  of  all  the  girls  being  elaborately  dressed  with  flow- 
ers, ribbons,  and  gold  lace,  and  curled  and  plaited  into  all  man- 
ner of  absurdities.  The  women  wore  full,  stiff  skirts,  falling 
but  a  little  below  the  knee,  jackets  of  a  different  color,  with  a 
peculiar  tip  up  behind,  and  immense  mutton-leg  sleeves,  which 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  417 

nearly  met  on  the  shoulders,  and  made  themselves  doubly 
hideous  by  great  round  caps  of  black  fur  or  plush,  crowded 
down  to  the  eyebrows. 

The  costume  of  the  Tyrolese  men  consists  of  smallclothes, 
with  black  or  white  stockings,  a  jacket  somewhat  elaborately 
braided,  cravat  and  waistcoat  of  some  bright  color,  and  the 
pointed  hat,  usually  dark  green.  Many  of  the  women  adopt 
the  dress  of  the  men  for  laboring  in  the  field,  and  look  all  the 
better  for  it.  We  have  seen  hundreds  of  these  ^'•femmes 
emancipees,^'  as  our  courier  calls  them,  digging  and  spading 
lustily  ;  and  a  healthy,  hearty,  and  withal  merry  set  they  seem. 
From  the  window  of  the  iim,  the  other  evening,  I  watched  a 
group  of  ten  or  twelve  at  work,  weeding  a  field  of  wheat. 
The  rain  was  falling  fast,  as  it  had  been  all  day  ;  yet,  when 
the  vesper  bell  rung,  they  dropped  upon  their  knees,  and  re- 
mained at  their  devotions  for  nearly  ten  minutes.  Aftei 
changing  their  wet,  masculine  habiliments  for  comfortable 
female  gear  in  a  barn  near  by,  they  came  into  the  inn  for 
their  supper.  I  saw  them  at  that  primitive  repast.  They  sat 
about  a  round  table,  and  ate  a  sort  of  porridge  out  of  one  large 
dish,  seasoning  the  sorry  meal  with  jest  and  laughter. 

"  O  young  and  jolly  creatures/* 

ye  may  be  ignorant,  and  stupid,  and  lamentably  superstitious ; 
may  fall  considerably  behind  ideal  womanhood  ;  but  for  my 
life  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  pity  you.  Full  chested, 
vigorously  limbed,  strong  backed,  firm  footed,  ye  defy  storm 
and  hardship,  and  rejoice  in  sternest  labor ;  ye  are  never 
troubled  by  fine  stomachic  sensibilities ;  ye  know  nothing  of 
the  toil  of  the  brain,  of  the  conflicts  of  the  spirit,  of  the  tragic 
sorrows  of  the  heart,  of  the  exquisite  agonies  of  the  nerves. 
You  are  robust,  and  plump,  and  bounteously  blooded,  bearinjw 
yourselves,  in  your  brown  bloom,  with  the  unconscious  inso- 
lence of  rustic  health.     You   have  simple  habits,  few  wants*, 


418  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

and  believing  hearts ;  so  plant  and  reap,  hoe  and  spade,  carry 
burdens,  yoke  yourselves  with  donkeys,  if  you  will,  reverence 
the  priest,  serve  your  beer-drinking  and  meerschaum-smoking 
masters.  It  is  your  mission,  from  which  I  should  think  twice 
ere  I  would  call  you  to  a  condition  in  which  every  beautiful 
taste  is  an  insatiable  longing,  every  exquisite  refinement  but 
a  subtilized  pain,  every  high-wrought  passion  the  exhaustless 
source  of  suffering. 

MuyicH,  JuyE  22. 
We  reached  this  city  on  the  evening  of  the  19th,  after  an 
uninteresting  day's  journey  through  a  flat  and  flooded  country. 
Munich  lies  low,  upon  the  Iser,  and  is  the  reverse  of  pic- 
turesque or  imposing  in  its  natural  site,  plan,  and  style  of 
building.  It  is  a  pleasant,  handsome  town,  with  a  most  un- 
continental  newness  of  look,  and  rivalling  Washington  in 
"  magnificent  distances."  Its  ciiief  beauty  is  a  fine  park,  in 
the  English  style,  containing  charming  drives  and  walks,  arti- 
ficial lakes  and  magnificent  trees.  Its  finest  edifices  are  those 
erected  by  the  ex-king,  who,  if  he  did  not  always  display  the 
purest  taste  in  art  or  original  ideas  in  architecture,  showed  a 
commendable  zeal  and  a  disinterested  devotion  in  improving 
his  capital.  All  the  principal  public  buildings  here  are  imi- 
tations of  well-known  structures  in  older  cities,  forming  a 
somewhat  odd  conjunction.  The  new  palace  is  a  weak  re- 
production of  the  Pitti  at  Florence,  with  which  it  must  in 
every  point  be  unfavorably  compared.  Internally  it  is  not  at 
all  to  my  taste,  being  gaudy,  with  much  gilding  and  high  col- 
oring, stucco  imitations  of  rich  marbles,  and  great,  glaring 
frescoes,  in  the  most  melodramatic  style.  The  throne  room 
is  a  very  tasteless,  if  not  an  absolutely  vulgar,  apartment.  It 
is  lined  on  both  sides  with  immense  gilt  statues,  in  hue  of  a 
greenish  yellow  ;  it  has  no  hangings  except  about  the  throne, 
no  ornaments  except  sickly  gildings  ;  altogether,  it  has  a 
frightfully  new,  bare,  and    shiny   appearance. 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  419 

There  are  in  this  palace  two  rooma  containing  a  collection, 
painted  for  the  ex-king,  of  portraits  of  modern  beauties.  In 
the  first  of  these  saloons,  in  the  central  place,  the  place  of 
honor  indeed,  hangs  the  portrait  of  Lola  Montez.  It  is  an 
admirable  likeness,  representing  her  in  a  Spanish  costume,  ex- 
quisitely adapted  to  her  style.  There  are  in  this  collection 
far  nobler  and  lovelier  faces  than  hers,  but  none  of  a  beauty  so 
powerful,  yet  subtle,  so  magnetic  and  inthralling. 

The  house  in  which  she  lived  when  created  Countess  of 
Landsfeldt  was  shown  us  by  our  valet  de  place.  It  is  a  cottage, 
plain  and  simple,  very  little  in  character  with  the  dashing  and 
passionate  adventuress. 

In  the  gallery  of  sculpture  we  saw  three  very  noble  antique 
figures  —  the  Barberini  Faun,  and  two  sons  of  Niobe,  one 
prostrate,  dead  ;  the  other  kneeling,  shrinking  from  the  impend- 
ing bolt.  The  Faun  is  a  powerful  figure,  half  reclining,  as 
though  surprised  by  a  deep  noonday  slumber.  The  whole 
form  is  wonderfully  expressive  of  the  utmost  luxury  of  deep- 
breathed  repose  without  weariness,  of  the  momentary  relaxa- 
tion of  great  strength ;  through  all  the  limbs,  to  the  least 
muscle,  it  is  full  of  lusty   sleep. 

Of  the  sons  of  Niobe,  the  kneeling  figure  lacks  the  head 
and  part  of  the  arms  ;  yet  it  is  one  of  the  most  touching  and 
powerful  works  of  sculpture  I  have  ever  beheld.  It  is  an 
almost  girlishly  tender  and  delicate  form,  the  very  ideal  of 
that  blooming  youth  to  whom  life  is  beautiful,  entreating  for 
life,  and  shrinking  away  from  death  with  instinctive  horror. 
It  is  not  the  wild  terror  of  the  boy,  but  the  mournful,  pas- 
sionate remonstrance  of  the  undeveloped  man,  inexpressibly 
more  piteous.  The  very  marble  seems  to  cry  out.  The  pros- 
trate figure  is  of  one  struck  down  in  the  prime  and  pride  of 
manly  beauty  and  strength.  The  face  wears  an  expression 
half  submissive,  half  defiant.  You  feel  that  he  died  giving 
no  sign  of  dread  or  entreaty. 


420  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

There  is  also  a  head  of  Medusa,  dead  —  so  dead  that  it  ai 
most  strikes   a  death  chill   into  you  as  you  look  at  it.     Tlib 
marble  seems  doubly  stony  and  cold,  and  even  seems  to  hav« 
a  peculiar,  ghastly,  greenisli  hue. 

Among  the  modern  sculptures  we  saw  the  Paris  of  Canova, 
the  tinest  ligure  I  have  yet  seen  from  his  hand  ;  and  the  Adonis 
of  Thorvvaldsen,  in  grace  and  delicate  finish  not  surpassing 
the  Paris,  but  bathed  in  that  beautiful  ideal  life,  the  highest 
poetic  element,  the  subtle  essence  of  the  olden  divinity,  which, 
to  my  eye,  the  classic  works  of  Canova  always  lack. 

The  Pinacoteck  is  a  large  gallery  for  paintings,  built  by  the 
ex-kinf]r  —  a  handsome  buildinor  containins:  a  valuable  and 
interesting  collection.  Here  I  saw  many  of  the  greatest  pic- 
tures of  Rubens  ;  and  I  must  confess  that  I  was  pleasantly  im- 
pressed by  very  few,  and  absolutely  revolted  by  the  coarse- 
ness of  most.  I  know  of  nothing  in  painting  more  disgusting 
than  his  rude  figures  in  the  Last  Judgment  and  kindred  pic- 
tures. This  gallery  is  especially  rich  in  Vanderwerfs  and' 
Vandykes,  and  has  several  of  fhe  most  admirable  works  of 
Wouverman  and  Teniers. 

Of  the  Italian  school,  there  is  a  Holy  Family,  by  Titian,  a 
very  lovely  picture,  and,  among  several  portraits  by  this  mas- 
ter of  masters,  one  which  delighted  me  beyond  expression. 
It  is  the  figure  of  a  man,  richly  dressed  in  dark  velvets  and 
furs,  if  I  remember  rightly.  The  head  is  noble,  the  face 
sternly  beautiful,  with  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  artist  him- 
self. This  picture,  which  would  otherwise  be  too  dark,  is 
splendidly  lit  up  in  the  background  by  the  figure  of  a  wo- 
man —  one  of  those  rich,  ripe  beauties,  with  golden,  effulgent 
hair,  which  Titian  so  revelled  in  painting. 

The  churches  of  Munich,  after  all  we  have  seen,  do  not 
impress  us  much ;  even  the  just  completed  Basilica  failed  to 
move  us  to  wonder  or  admiration,  much  to  the  astonishment 
of  our  valet  de  place.     But  I  believe  it  quite  impossible  for  a 


A  TOUR  IN  p:ukope.  421 

new    cathedral    to    produce    the    effect   of    grandeur   or   so- 
leranity. 

In  the  Church  of  St.  Michael  we  saw  the  tomb  of  Eugene 
Beauharnois,  with  Thorwaldsen's  monument.  This,  though 
beautiful,  is  not  a  high  expression  of  the  genius  of  that  no- 
ble artist.  With  the  exception  of  the  figure  of  Beauharnois, 
which  is   very  fine,  the  work  is  comparatively  commonplace. 

We  yesterday  visited  tlie  great  bronze  foun^Jery,  where  sev- 
eral of  the  figures  of  Crawford's  Washington  Monument  are 
now  beino;  cast,  and  afterwards  drove  out  to  the  race  course 
to  see  the  colossal  statue  of  Bavaria,  the  largest  bronze  figure 
in  the  world.  It  is  sixty-one  and  a  half  feet  in  height,  and 
stands  on  a  pedestal  twenty-eight  and  a  half  feet  high.  This 
tremendous  figure  is  so  admirably  proportioned,  and  so  beau- 
tiful withal,  that  it  appears  far  less  colossal  than  it  is,  and 
not  till  you  ascend  it  do  you  fully  realize  its  enormous  size.' 
We  went  up  into  the  head,  where  there  is  a  nice  little  apart- 
ment, well  lit  and  aired,  with  comfortable  seats,  and  capable 
of  holding  twelve  persons. 

The  King  of  Bavaria,  who,  for  several  months  past,  has 
been  travelling  in  the  south  of  Europe  for  the  benefit  of  his 
health,  returned  to  liis  capital  on  the  evening  of  the  20th. 
The  entree  was  quite  a  brilliant  aflTair.  The  streets  through 
which  he  passed  were  beautifully  decorated  :  there  was  a  fine 
military  display,  and  the  people,  who  were  out  in  great  num- 
bers, received  the  royal  cortege  with  loyal  shouts. 

Last  night  we  saw  their  Majesties  at  the  opera.  They  sat 
in  a  side  box,  dressed  very  simply  —  the  King  with  not  even 
a  star  or  ribbon  to  distinguish  him  from  a  private  gentleman. 
When  they  entered,  the  house  rose  and  gave  the  usual  ex- 
pression of  enthusiastic  loyalty  ;  the  King  smiled,  and  bowed 
some  dozen  times  ;  the  Queen,  who  is  a  very  pretty  woman,  by 
the  way,  looked  duly  delighted  ;  the  curtain  rose,  and  thence- 
forward the  operatic  king  and  queen  ruled  the  scene.  Thf 
3G 


422  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS. 

opera  was  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  —  well  brought  out,  and 
tolerably  well  sung.  In  the  spoken  parts,  the  German,  which 
I  do  not  know  at  all.  produced  an  odd  effect  upon  my  ear.  It 
seemed  strangely  like  my  own  language,  in  a  state  of  fusion 
and  confusion.  I  felt  that,  if  I  were  a  little  nearer,  I  could 
understand  it — or  if  the  actors  would  not  swallow  some  of 
their  words,  and  gulp  up  others  in  such  an  extraordinary 
manner.  It  seemed,  throughout,  a  sort  of  broken,  or  rather 
drunken,  English. 

The  opera  commenced  at  seven,  and  closed  at  half  past 
nine  —  such  are  the  primitive  hours  of  this  capital.  There 
is  about  the  house  itself  an  almost  republican  simplicity  — 
there  being  not  more  than  ten  private  boxes,  and  they  but 
little  decorated.  There  were  neither  brilliant  lights  nor 
elaborate  toilets  —  all  was  quiet  and  unostentatious.  We 
were  even  told  that  the  King  and  Queen  walked  from  the 
palace  to  the  opera  house  without  any  retinue  —  which  cer- 
tainly proves  that  they  are  not  particularly  proud,  or  "  stuck 
up,"  as  a  Yankee  would  say.  This  King  has  never  been 
crowned,  having  wisely  concluded  to  spare  the  state  an  enor- 
mous and  unnecessary  expense. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Strasbourg,  the  Cathedral.  —  Paris.  —  Annual  Exhibition  oi 
Painting  and  Scuplture.  —  The  Emperor  and  Empress.  —  Ab- 
DEL  Kader.  —  London.  —  A  Tale  of  a  Hat.  —  Frederic  Freili- 
GRATH.  —  Sir  Henry  Bishop.  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall.  —  Run- 
nymead.  —  The  Camp  at  Chobham.  —  Pontooning  at  Virginij 
Water.  —  Conversazione  at  the  Lord  Mayor's.  — Distinguishei 
Guests.  —  The  Duchess  of  Sutherland.  —  Crystal  Palacb  at 
Sydenham.  —  Ascent  of  St.  Paul's.  —  Consumption  Hospital.  — 
German  Play.  —  Emil  Devrient.  —  A  farewell  Visit  to  Kos- 
suth. -  -  Mazzini.  —  Adieux. 

Pa  ris,  June  27. 

I  LEFT  Munich  on  the  evening  of  the  22d,  and  arrived 
here  on  that  of  the  24th.  Our  journey  to  Strasbourg,  via 
Ulm,  Stutgard,  and  Carlsruhe,  was  very  fatiguing,  and  espe- 
cially disagreeable,  from  the  floods  of  rain  which  fell  without 
cessation.  This  can  never  be  called  a  picturesque  route,  I 
think  ;  though,  when  viewed  under  a  pleasant  sun,  it  may 
present  a  smiling,  well-cultivated  aspect.  But  seen  as  I  saw 
it,  through  a  thick,  watery  veil,  and  half  whelmed,  it  seemed 
but  a  dreary,  weary,  melancholy  country. 

At  Strasbourg,  by  rising  early,  I  was  able  to  spend  a  half 
hour  in  and  about  the  Cathedral.  It  is  a  glorious  old  edifice 
—  not  so  wondrously  wrought,  so  aerially  beautiful,  as  that  of 
Milan,  but  more  grand  and  solemn  —  not  so  inspiring,  but 
more  impressive.  The  clock  in  this  cathedral  is  accounted 
one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world  as  a  piece  of  mechanism.  It 
is  certainly  a  curious  and  beautiful  work,  though  we  did  not 
see  it  at  the  most  desirable  time,  twelve  o'clock,  when  the 
twelve  apostles,  life  size,  come  out  and  bow  before  the  figure 

(423) 


424  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF  * 

of  the  Savior,  and  a  large  cock  claps  his  wings  and  crows 
three  times. 

On  the  journey  from  Strasbourg  to  Paris,  I  unfortunately 
took  a  severe  cold,  which,  for  two  days  after  my  arrival,  con- 
fined me  almost  entirely  to  my  room.  Yet,  had  I  been  well, 
I  could  have  done  very  little  in  the  way  of  sightseeing,  as  it 
rained  incessantly. 

To-day,  finding  myself  better  and  the  weather  quite  charm- 
ing, I  have  been  able,  through  my  kind  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Goodrich  and  their  family,  to  get  a  little  taste  of  Paris,  as 
any  thing  like  heavy  business  in  the  sightseeing  line  was  quite 
out  of  the  question.  We  first  spent  a  couple  of  hours  at  the 
gallery  for  the  Annual  Exhibition  of  Painting  and  Sculpture. 
Among  a  great  multitude  of  pictures,  there  were  few  which 
impressed  me  as  evidencing  genius  of  a  high  order  ;  but  many 
display  great  cleverness,  with  originality  bordering  on  the 
bizarre,  and  startling  with  melodramatic  effects  peculiarly 
French.  The  greatest  Parisian  artists,  such  as  De  la  Roche 
and  Schoeffer,  consider  it  infra  dig.  to  send  pictures  to  the 
exhibition  ;  yet  there  were  some  here  well  worthy  to  bear  the 
name  of  any  living  genius.  Among  the  portraits,  those  of  the 
Emperor  and  Empress  attracted  the  most  attention.  Louis 
Napoleon  has  a  mean,  ill-proportioned  figure,  and  an  irredeem- 
ably ugly  face ;  but  the  Empress  is  certainly  a  most  beautiful 
woman.  In  this  picture,  a  full  length,  said  to  be  the  best 
yet  taken,  she  looks  more  lovely  than  stately,  and  far  more 
pensive  than  proud.  She  here  quite  lacks  the  dashing,  dis- 
dainful air  I  looked  to  see ;  there  is  a  weary,  sad  drooping  ol 
the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and  a  quiet  but  an  intense  trouble 
about  the  eyes  and  brow  very  touching  to  see.  You  feel  that 
the  poor  creature  has  sold  herself,  and  found  the  bargain  a 
hard  one.  My  friends  in  Paris  tell  me  she  is  remarkably  sim- 
ple in  dress  and  manner,  and  that  she  is  much  liked  at  court, 
but  that  notliing  like  the  enthusiastic  public  demonstrations  we 


A   TOUR   IN    EUROPir  425 

Bee  reported  ever  takes  place.  The  people  are  curious  to  see 
her,  but  at  no  time  hearty  or  lavish  in  their  "  vives''  Even 
on  the  occasion  of  the  Emperor  presenting  her  to  them,  on 
tlie  evening  after  her  marriage,  on  the  balcony  of  the  palace 
of  the  Tuileries,  they  received  her  in  sullen  or  stupid  silence. 
A  young  American  assured  me  that  he  felt  the  blood  boil  in 
his  veins  at  seeing  a  woman  thus  treated,  and  sent  up  with  all 
the  power  of  his  lungs  a  solitary,  desperate  "  vive  Vlmpera- 
trice  !  " 

With  all  their  flattering  and  somewhat  fussy  gallantry,  the 
French  have  no  chivalrous  regard,  no  real  respect,  for  woman. 
As  for  any  sentiment  of  loyalty,  that's  quite  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, being  one  of  the  obsolete  ideas.  The  young  Empress  is 
eaid  to  have  a  most  unimperial  dislike  of  court  etiquette,  and, 
by  setting  it  at  defiance,  sometimes  to  bring  upon  her  head 
the  displeasure  of  his  august  Majesty.  At  a  late  court  ball, 
m  great  joj^  at  meeting  an  old  friend,  instead  of  presenting  one 
nand,  to  be  kissed,  she  gave  both,  to  the  horror  of  the  Em- 
peror, who  hissed  out,  '•'•Madame,  vous  ouhliez  que  vous  etes 
CImperatrice  !  " 

While  in  this  gallery  I  noticed  a  little  incident  which  could 
hardly  have  occurred  in  any  other  place  than  Paris.  As  we 
were  sitting  before  a  large  battle  piece  representing  some  en- 
gagement of  the  late  war  in  Algiers,  a  French  dragoon  came 
up,  and  began  examining  it  with  a  keen,  professional  interest. 
Scarcely  had  he  stood  there  two  minutes  when  he  was  joined 
by  a  black-bearded,  big-trousered  Algerine  ;  and  together  they 
quietly  contemplated  a  scene  in  which  it  is  possible  they  had 
botli  been  actors.  This  reminds  me  of  a  little  anecdote  I 
heard  to  day  of  Abdel  Kader.  At  the  visit  which  he  paid  to 
Versailles,  soon  after  his  release,  the  attendants  refrained,  from 
feelings  of  delicacy,  from  showing  him  those  pictures  com- 
memorating the  war  in  Algiers.  But  he  had  heard  of  them, 
and  insisted  on  seeing  them  now.  He  stood  for  a  long  time 
36* 


426  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

before  Horace  Vernet's  magnificent  picture,  La  Prise  de  la 
Sraala  d'Abdel  Kader,  and  at  last  turned  away  with  the  quiet 
but  significant  remark,  "If  I  had  artists,  /would  have  some 
pictures  painted." 

In  the  sculpture  gallery  I  saw  nothing  which  called  forth 
much  admiration  ;  but  I  was  not  a  little  struck  by  seeing,  in  a 
conspicuous  place,  a  bust  of  Louis  Napoleon,  crowned  with  the 
imperial  laurel,  side  by  side  with  the  head  of  Christ  crowned 
with  thorns.  This  most  unnatural  juxtaposition  seemed  to  me, 
at  the  moment,  little  short  of  blasphemy. 

A  drive  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  a  stroll  in  the  gardens  of 
the  Tuileries,  and  a  pleasant  evening  with  my  pleasant  friends, 
completed  my  second  visit  to  Paris ;  to-morrow  I  shall  be 
over  the  channel.  My  present  state  of  health  renders  quiet 
necessary,  and  makes  me  long  inexpressibly  for  rest  in  a 
comfortable  English  home,  among  my  dear  English  friends.  I 
am,  I  fancy,  a  tolerably  contented  cosmopolitan,  save  in  times 
of  sadness  and  sickness,  when  my  heart  cries  out  for  its  kin- 
dred, and  strange  scenes  and  strange  faces  oppress  and  appall 
me. 

I  feel,  in  going  to  England,  if  not  precisely  like  going 
to  my  own  mother's  house,  at  least  to  my  grandmother'si 
where  I  shall  be  welcomed,  cared  for,  counselled,  indulged, 
and  made  to  feel  myself  deliciously  at  home.  God  bless  the 
dear,  stately,  aristocratic  old  lady  ! 

•  Blackheath  Pare,  near  London,  July  12. 

I  reached  my  haven  of  rest  two  weeks  ago  to-day ;  but  I 
have  been  nearly  all  the  time  since  in  a  strange  state  of  phys- 
ical and  mental  languor  —  the  exhaustion  and  reaction  after 
many  months  of  exertion  and  excitement.  It  has  not  seemed 
so  much  like  indisposition  as  like  convalescence  after  a  gi-eat 
illness.  There  have  been  days  when,  had  my  life  depended 
on  it,  I  could  not  ha'  ".  written  a  line;  when  I  could  not  read 


A   TOUR   IN    EUROPE.  427 

or  talk  ;  could  only  sit  hour  after  hour  in  the  garden,  in  poor 
Clifford's  dreamy,  languid  way,  watching  the  birds,  the  leaves, 
and  the  flowers,  or  the  shadows  of  the  clouds  flowing  over  the 
lawn.  I  have  felt,  as  never  before,  the  blessed  relief  of  being 
tended,  cared  for,  planned  for,  after  having  long  been  obliged 
to  act  and  look  out  for  myself.  The  wondrous  beauty  of  Eng- 
land at  this  season  seems  to  have  rendered  back  to  me  much 
of  the  strength  and  joy  of  life.  I  think  I  am  better  ;  and  I 
hope  I  am  gaining  some  control  over  my  undisciplined  mental 
forces.  They  all  seemed  to  have  deserted  at  one  time,  and  now 
seem  to  come  slowly  straggling  back. 

Once,  during  my  fii'st  week  here,  I -ventured  out  of  my 
quiet  retreat  into  town  to  see  some  friends.  The  day  was 
pleasant,  and  all  the  world  was  abroad.  But  the  rush  and 
roar  of  London  life,  the  endless  succession,  the  torrent-like 
sweep,  of  busy  crowds,  which  once  inspired  me,  stunned  and 
overwhelmed  me  now.  There  was  something  fearful,  almost 
maddening,  about  it,  against  which  I  felt  impelled  to  shut  my 
eyes  and  stop  my  ears.  And  then  I  had  a  private  little  griev- 
ance, which  not  a  little  disturbed  me.  When  at  Paris,  I  had 
purchased  one  of  the  bonnets  of  the  season,  which,  as  every 
one  knows,  are  small  beyond  precedent,  without  reflecting  that 
I  was  bound  for  a  country  where  the  ladies  display  in  nothing 
their  characteristic  modesty  and  reserve  more  than  in  bonnets, 
at  least  those  for  the  ordinary  promenade,  retiring  into  pro- 
found depths  of  leghorn  and  lace,  and  sometimes  cloistering 
themselves  in  the  shades  of  hu.se  "  uglies." 

The  Parisian  milliner  of  whom  I  purchased  the  above 
mentioned  bonnet,  who  was  a  reduced  comtesse,  and  had  her 
arms  blazoned  on  the  plafond  of  the  show  room,  was  so  com- 
plaisant as  to  go  into  ecstasies  over  the  effect  when  I  tried  it 
on,  crying,  '''•(Test  joli!  charmant !  parfait!^'  I  saw  that  it 
was  becoming,  peculiarly  so ;  and  she  assured  me  it  was  not 
deal';  so  I  took  it,  with  no  fearful  looking  for   of  Cockney 


428  HATS    AND    MISIIArS    OF 

indignation,  surely.  Well,  as  I  descended  from  my  chamber, 
eijuipped  for  my  expedition  into  town,  I  noticed  that  the  friend 
who  was  to  accom[)any  me  looked  a  little  struck  up ;  but  I  con- 
cluded it  was  with  admiration  at  the  ton  of  the  thins^  —  and 
perhaps  it  was.  At  the  station,  while  waiting  for  the  train, 
I  had  a  strong  suspicion  that  a  remark  I  overheard,  of 
*'  My  eyes !  them  is  poppies,"  referred  to  a  trifle,  in  the  deco- 
rative  way,  belonging  to  my  bonnet.  In  the  railway  cjirriage 
I  found  myself  an  object  of  rather  curious  regard  —  but  this 
I  attributed  to  a  certain  foreign  air  I  may  have  picked  up  on 
the  continent ;  and  it  was  not  till  I  was  walking  down  Regent 
Street  that  I  was  convinced  as  to  the  cause  of  the  sensation  I 
produced.  "  The  head  and  front  of  my  offending "  was  my 
unfortunate  bonnet.  It  was  stared  at  and  commented  upon 
without  mercy  ;  shop  boys  pronounced  it  "  the  last  Paris  stun- 
ner ;  "  shop  girls  lifted  their  eyebrows,  and  said,  "  0,  my  !  "  and 
an  impudent  young  footman,  as  he  passed  me,  looked  up  into 
my  face .  with  a  shrill,  significant  whistle.  At  last,  in  very 
desperation,  I  rushed  into  a  shop  and  purchased  a  black  lace 
veil,  with  which  I  quite  extinguished  my  "  stunner,"  poppies 
and  all. 

After  what  I  have  said  of  the  imperative  need  I  have  felt 
for  rest,  I  need  hardly  add  that  I  have  avoided  society  as 
much  as  possible,  seeing  only  the  friends  with  whom  I  was 
most  intimate  during  my  former  visit.  We  have  had  one 
pleasant  dinner  party  at  Mr.  B 's,  in  honor  of  the  charm- 
ing Mrs.  Le  Vert,  of  Mobile,  who,  with  her  father  and 
daughter,  has  lately  come  abroad.  Among  the  guests  wer^ 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crosland,  Sir  Henry  Bishop,  and  Frederic 
Freiligrath.  Mrs.  Crosland  has  long  been  known  in  America 
as  Camilla  Toulmin,  a  delightful  authoress  ;  but  we  know  her 
also  as  a  noble  woman.  Sir  Henry  Bishop  is  a  quiet,  cold, 
gentlemanly  person,  who  bears  no  outward  sign  of  that  shock 
iji  domestic  misfortune  which  must   have   shaken   his   soul 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPi!!.  429 

Freiligrath  looks  the  poet,  in  the  real,  not  the  romantic,  sense. 
His  is  a  handsome,  powerful  head,  borne  with  unconscious 
dignity  —  a  fine,  glowing,  honest  face.  He  is  still  earnest  and 
hopeful  in  his  devotion  to  European  freedom  ;  not  alone  his 
words,  but  the  tones  of  his  voice,  are  heroic  and  inspiring. 

We  have  just  returned  from  Firfield,  Addlestone,  the  beau- 
tiful and  fairy-like  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall,  where 
we  spent  three  delightful  and  memorable  days.  I  have  never 
seen  a  place  like  Firfield;  such  an  exquisite  blending  of 
luxury  and  comfort,  such  a  joint  creation  of  poetry  and  art, 
displaying  every  where  an  affluence  and  refinement  of  fancy, 
yet  breathing  the  true  home  atmosphere.  Like  poets  and 
lovers  of  all  beauty  as  they  are,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hall  have 
chosen  their  residence  in  a  lovely  and  storied  neighborhood. 
It  is  near  the  pleasant  little  town  of  Chertsey,  and  within 
easy  drives  of  Virginia  Water,  Windsor,  Claremont,  Runny- 
mead,  Cooper's  Hill,  immortalized  by  the  poet  Denham ;  Ann's 
Hill,  as  the  residence  of  Fox ;  the  house  of  Cowley,  and  the 
tomb  of  Louis  Philippe. 

Runnymead  is  a  rich  piece  of  meadow  land,  lying  on  the 
Thames,  and  fittingly  and  impressively  left  in  almost  its  an- 
cient wildness  and  beauty.  It  is  supposed  that  King  John 
signed  the  Charter  on  a  small  island,  formerly  separated  from 
the  mead  where  the  barons  were  encamped,  by  a  narrow 
current,  though  now  by  the  larger  part  of  the  Thames.  This 
has,  for  centuries,  borne  the  name  of  Magna  Charta  Island ; 
and  there  are  upon  it  six  immemorial  walnuts,  planted  in  a 
circle,  in  commemoration,  it  is  supposed,  of  the  glorious  event, 
and  to  mark  the  exact  spot  by  an  enduring  record.  It 
was  not  without  emotion  that  I  stood  within  the  circle  of  these 
majestic  living  monuments  of  that  grand  though  bloodless  vic- 
tory of  freedom  over  despotism,  and  proudly  claimed  my 
share  in  the  benefits  and  the  glories  dating  from  that  day  — 
the  source  and  the  soul  of  the  greatness  and  power  of  the 


430  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OP 

Anglo-Saxon  race.  In  looking  from  the  island,  so  still  and 
lonely,  and  almost  primitively  wild,  showed  mead,  and  wood, 
and  hill,  that  the  imagination  wrought  without  hinderance, 
charmed  you  back  into  the  olden  time,  and  pictured  vividly 
the  cruel  and  cowardly  king,  pale  with  fear,  and  lowering 
with  ineflectual  rage  ;  and,  on  the  opposite  shore,  the  bold 
barons,  in  their  beautiful,  appalling  array.  So  completely 
was  I  able  to  lose  myself,  for  a  time,  in  such  scenes  of  the 
warlike,  half-barbarous  past,  that  it  seemed  like  a  great  leap 
down  the  centuries  to  visit  next  day  the  camp  at  Chobham. 
This  was  a  strangely  interesting,  a  peculiar  and  beautiful,  but, 
I  fear,  an  utterly  indescribable  sight.  Imagine  a  brown,  tree- 
less heath  —  a  wide,  wild,  uneven  plain,  white  with  tents,  and 
alive  with  horse  and  foot  —  guards,  lancers,  Highlanders, 
grays,  blues,  greens,  grenadiers,  artillerymen,  sappers  and 
miners,  &c.,  &c.  There  was  no  review  at  the  camp  on  the 
day  of  our  visit,  but  at  Virginia  Water  we  witnessed  a  gallant 
display.  There  was  a  review  in  the  Park  of  five  thousand 
troops  ;  and  we  saw  the  artillery  cross  the  water  upon  pon- 
toons, which  were  afterwards  formed  into  rafts,  for  the  pas- 
sage of  the  infantry,  whose  embarkation  and  debarkation 
formed  a  series  of  magnificent  pictures. 

I  think  I  never  saw  such  splendid  fighting  men  as  the  High- 
landers. With  brawny,  towering  figures,  with  sinews  of  steel, 
and  Ifard,  cold,  unflinching  faces,  they  yet  look  neither  cruel, 
nor  stupid,  nor  sullen.  They  have  none  of  the  Austrian 
brutality  and  bloodthirstiness  about  them  ;  they  have  all  the 
humanities  —  they  are  yet  men. 

On  the  night  of  the  14th  there  came  off  a  grand  conversa- 
zione at  the  Mansion  House,  which  we  attended.  There  had 
ueen  nearly  two  thousand  invitations  issued.  There  were 
present,  I  suppose,  at  least  fifteen  hundred  people ;  yet  none 
of  the  rooms  —  except  it  be  the  supper  room  —  were  uncom- 
foitably  crowded.     The  Lord  Mayor  and  the  Lady  Mayoress 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  431 

received  their  guests  with  a  simple  cordiality,  wliich  reminded 
me  of  the  manner  in  which  our  President  and  his  family  re- 
ceive. Indeed,  the  whole  affair,  but  for  the  gorgeous,  quaint, 
old-time  livery  of  the  servants,  would  have  seemed  very  like 
a  levee  at  the  White  House.  But  never  yet  have  so  many 
distinguished  people  come  together  at  any  one  gathering  in 
America. 

We  early  took  a  position  near  the  Lord  Mayor  and  the 
Lady  Mayoress,  where  we  could  have  a  good  view  of  the 
notabilities  as  they    were  announced  and  presented. 

Sir  Charles  Eastlake  and  Sir  Edward  Landsoer  entered 
nearly  at  the  same  time.  They  are  both  short  and  stout,  the 
latter  especially  so,  yet  apparently  quick  to  nervousness  in 
his  movement,  as  he  entered  the  drawing  room  with  a  sort 
of  plunge,  as  though  violently  propelled.  A  striking  contrast 
was  presented  by  Miss  Strickland  and  Miss  Pardoe ;  the  for- 
mer, in  her  towering  figure,  formal  manner,  and  solemn  tones, 
reproducing  much  of  the  antique  stateliness  of  the  early 
"  Queens ;  "  the  latter,  though  past  the  first  bloom  of  youth, 
still  plump  and  pretty,  cheerful,  chatty,  and  charming. 

There  was  Mary  Howitt,  with  her  pleasant,  sympathetic 
face,  aglow  with  kindly  animation,  and  her  lovely  daughter, 
who,  beside  being  an  artist  of  rare  poetic  genius,  has  lately 
taken  to  authorship,  and  produced  a  very  successful  book. 
There  was  George  Cruikshank,  a  rather  eccentric  individual, 
with  long,  straggling  locks  ;  and  Martin  Tupper,  as  ruddy  and 
smiling,  frank  and  warmhearted,  as  ever ;  and  Dr.  Bowring, 
who»has  just  returned  from  China,  a  tall,  thin  man  in  specta- 
cles, who  was  soon  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  friends,  t<.  whom 
he  talked  in  a  merry,  animated  manner,  not  at  all  in  the  sa- 
vanish  style.  Then  there  was  Risk  Allah,  the  secretary  of 
the  Turkish  embassy,  a  handsome  young  Oriental,  who  is  a 
good  deal  lionized  just  now,  on  account  of  a  very  clever  book 
he  has  lately  written  in   English.     There  was  Albert  Smith, 


432  HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF 

who  flung  his  jokes  right  and  left  as  he  pass  )d  through  the 
crowd,  and  left  a  wake  of  laughter  behind  him ;  Charles 
Mackay,  the  poet  of  the  people,  the  whole-souled  and  true- 
hearted  man ;  and  Mary  Cowden  Clarke,  of  Shakspearian 
fame. 

Most  of  the  foreign  ministers  were  present,  and  a  number 
of  the  highest  nobility.  The  Duchess  of  Sutherland  came 
with  her  son-in-law,  the  young  Duke  of  Argyle.  She  was 
dressed  simply,  in  white,  with  a  few  flowers  at  the  back  of  her 
hair,  and  a  single  diamond  ornament,  throbbing  like  a  star  upon 
her  forehead.  Her  Grace  is  a  younger  but  a  less  beautiful 
woman  than  I  expected  to  see.  Her  beauty  of  face  is  by  no 
means  regular  and  perfect,  and  sh'e  is  very  stout ;  but  the  tout 
ensemble  is  striking  and  imposing  in  the  highest  degree.  She 
has  a  gracious  but  a  most  regal  expression,  and  in  her  manner 
and  bearing  there  is  a  wonderful  union  of  pride  and  softness, 
of  stateliness  and  grace. 

Altogether  she  is  a  grand-looking  woman,  for  i^hom  some 
high  title  would  have  been  invented  had  she  been  born  in  a 
republic  —  so  royal,  so  absolutely  imperial,  is  her  presence. 

The  Duke  of  Argyle  is  a  small,  delicate,  red-haired  young 
man,  redeemed  from  plainness  and  insignificance,  even  by  the 
side  of  his  majestic  mother-in-law,  by  an  expression  of  great 
cleverness  and  refinement. 

We  had  fine  music  throughout  the  evening,  and  dancing 
during  the  latter  part ;  but  the  chief  pleasure  was,  of  course, 
in  conversation.  Altogether,  it  was  a  brilliant  and  delightful 
entertainment  —  a  golden  occasion,  to  be  long  and  pleasantly 
remembered. 

This  afternoon  we  have  visited  and  gone  over  the  Crystal 
Palace  at  Sydenham.  It  is  admirably  situated  on  an  emi- 
nence commanding  rich  and  beautiful  views  in  every  direction. 
It  is  an  immense  edifice,  and  will  be,  when  finished,  one  of  the 
wonders  of  the  world- 


A   TOUR   IN   EUROPE.  4^3 

The  sculpture  galleries  promise  to  be  very  complete.  They 
already  contain  fine  plaster  copies  of  the  most  celebrated  an- 
cient and  modern  works,  an  immense  assemblage.  But  all  in 
as  yet  unarranged.  There  is  to  be  a  Pompeian  department, 
wherein  several  of  the  finest  houses  of  Pompeii  are  to  be 
accurately  reproduced.  Five  or  six  years  hence,  the  Crystal 
Palace  will  be  a  glorious  place.  May  I  then  be  there  to  see ! 
Now  it  is  a  strangely  noisy  and  confused  scene  —  resounding 
with  all  the  tumult  of  toil,  an  absolute  stoira  of  hammers  and 
chisels. 

Many  of  the  workmen  are  foreigners.  I  asked  one  in  the 
sculpture  gallery  some  questions  respecting  a  statue  he  was 
finishing  up,  and  he  replied  in  Itahan  —  the  sweet,  silvery 
Tuscan.  How  my  heart  leaped  to  hear  it,  and  warmed  to- 
wards that  poor,  sad-eyed  Florentine,  as  towards  a  brother ! 
It  is  strange  with  what  a  mournful,  tender,  yearning  love  I 
remember  Italy,  and  how  more  and  more  keenly  I  feel  the 
wrongs  and  oppressions  under  which  her  people  groan ;  and 
stronger  and  deeper  grows  my  faith  that  the  day  of  her  liber- 
ation is  at  hand  — that  I  shall  live  to  see  it. 

London,  July  20. 

Yesterday  I  ascended  St.  Paul's,  not  to  the  ball,  but  to  the 
highest  outer  gallery  below.  The  day  was  unluckily  misty, 
so  we  did  not  have  a  very  extensive  view,  but  still  saw  enough 
of  the  wonderful  world  of  London  to  overwhelm  me  witli 
amazement  and  awe. 

The  interior  of  St.  Paul's,  bare  and  cold  as  it  is,  struck  me 
as  in  the  last  degree  dismal,  after  seeing  the  cathedrals  of  the 
continent,  with  their  warmth,  and  splendor,  and  gorgeous 
accessories. 

St.  Paul's,  with  all  its  cold,  gray,  resounding  spaces,  with 
its  begrimed  frescoes  and  dingy  monumental  statuary,  has, 
for  all  its  grandeur,  a  dreary,  unattractive,  comfortless  aspect ; 
37 


<34  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS    OP 

convincing  evidence,  I  should  say,  of  the  woful  unfitness  ol 
great  cathedrals  for  the  simplicity  of  Protestant  worship.  J 
trust  in  Heaven  the  time  is  not  far  distant  when  Christian 
people  will  no  longer  pile  their  wealth  in  vast  structures  to 
God's  honor,  but,  by  sharing  their  abundance  with  his  poor, 
make  darkened  human  lives  beautiful,  fill  sad  human  souls 
with  the  voice  of  praise  and  prayer,  make  erring  human  hearts 
the  temples  of  his  Spirit.       • 

A  day  or  two  since  I  visited  an  admirable  charitable  insti- 
tution —  a  hospital  for  consumption  and  diseases  of  the  chest 
—  at  Brompton.  This  is  a  handsome  Gothic  edifice,  in  a 
peculiarly  healthful  and  open  situation,  surrounded  by  pleas- 
ant giounds.  I  was  happy  to  find  that  the  physicians  here 
depend  more  upon  kind  nursing,  a  carefully-regulated  tem- 
perature and  diet,  than  upon  medicine,  though  they  speak  of 
wonderful  cures  wrought  by  cod-liver  oil.  Most  of  the  pa- 
tients seemed  very  cheerful,  and  many  were  engaged  in  read-' 
ing  or  light  needlework.  Every  where  prevailed  the  utmost 
order,  cleanliness,  and  comfort. 

Among  the  incurables  there  was  one  young  girl,  a  mere  child 
of  thirteen  or  fourteen  years,  whose  face  and  manner  I  shall 
never  forget.  She  was  an  angel  of  beauty  and  sweetness ,  sad, 
but  quiet,  she  lay  with  a  most  pathetic  patience,  awaiting  the 
call  to  her  unknown  home.  In  the  shattered  bark  of  her 
young  life,  she  was  already  afloat  on  that  solemn  sea  that  beats 
against  the  eternal  shore  ;  and  the  half-timid,  half-eager  out- 
looking  of  her  tender  eyes  towards  that  better  land  was  some- 
thing inexpressibly  touching  to  behold. 

This  hospital  is  supported  by  voluntary  subscription.  None 
but  the  very  poor  are  admitted ;  though  so  great  is  its  reputa- 
tion, that  many  applications  are  made  by  people  of  fortune. 
A  year  or  two  since,  a  lady  gained  admission  under  the  char- 
acter of  a  pauper  —  remained  several  months,  and  was  dis- 
charged cured.  She  then  revealed  herself,  accompanying  her 
confession  with  a  liberal  donation. 


A   TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  435 

Last  night  we  attended  the  St.  James  Theatre,  where  the 
»#lebrated  German  company,  headed  by  Emil  Devrient,  are 
now  playing.  The  piece  was  Schiller's  tragedy  of  the  Bride  of 
Messina  —  a  splendid  reading  play,  but  rather  slow  in  repre- 
sentation, from  its  being  in  the  Greek  form,  with  choruses,  and 
from  the  preposterously  long  speeches  put  into  the  mouths  of 
the  principal  actors.  Yet  the  performance  was,  throughout, 
pleasing  for  its  truth  and  simplicity,  and  for  its  being  so 
equally  and  thoroughly  sustained.  Devrient  is  an  admirable 
artist,  who  does  not  depend  upon  strength,  of  lungs,  on  fierce 
frowns  or  hoarse  whispers,  points  or  poses,  to  throw  over  his 
audience  the  mastery  of  his  genius.  His  power  is  subtile 
rather  than  startling ;  it  pervades  his  entire  performance,  and 
permeates  it  with  nature  and  passion.  He  is  a  man  of  forty, 
slight  and  pale,  not  handsome  in  i/ie  ordinary  acceptation  of 
the  term  —  but  there  are  times,  in  passages  of  love  or  heroism, 
when  his  face  shows  marvellously  youthful  and  beautiful,  and 
his  fine  classic  head  reminds  you  of  that  of  a  young  Greek 
god.  His  manner  is  marked  by  a  high-bred  propriety,  a 
princely  dignity,  strongly  enough  in  contrast  with  the  strut  and 
rant  of  many  of  our  actors,  who  literally  "  fret  their  brief  hour 
on  the  stage."  His  voice  is  strong  and  clear,  and  has  a  sweet, 
thrilling,  searching  quality  far  rarer.  It  is  always  in  harmony 
with  the  sentiment  and  in  abeyance  to  nature. 

Since  I  came  into  town  I  have  seen  —  I  cannot  but  fear  for 
the  last  time  —  Kossuth  and  Mazzini.  I  saw  the  former  at 
his  house  in  St.  John's  Wood,  a  cottage  buried  in  deep  foliage, 
a  quiet,  lonely,  shadowy  retreat,  most  poetically  fitted  for  the 
tarrying-place  of  the  exile  waiting  and  working  for  a  better 
day.  He  looks  in  firmer  health  than  when  with  us,  and  bears 
up  gallantly  under  disappointment,  detraction,  the  calumny  of 
foes,  the  desertion  of  summer  friends,  and  the  heartsickness  of 
hope  deferred. 

Again  I  felt  my  whole  nature  bend  before  the  simple,  un- 


436  HAPS   AND    MISHAPS    OF 

conscious,  yet  almost  superliuman  power  of  his  presence.  Ad 
I  saw  in  his  deep  eyes  the  unwasted  fire  of  his  long-baffled 
purpose ;  as  I  heard  again  his  wonderful  voice,  with  all  its  pro- 
found and  melancholy  sweetness,  and  its  strange,  prophet-like 
tones,  which  seem  to  be  calling  down  to  us  from  a  better  and 
a  nobler  age  to  come ;  when  I  saw  in  all  his  presence  the 
transfiguring  splendor  of  his  heroic  enthusiasm,  —  I  felt  the 
early  hero  worship  beating  full  and  fast  at  my  heart,  flushing  and 
paling  my  cheek,  shaking  my  voice,  and  dimming  my  eyes. 
I  can  truly  say  th^  never,  when  I  have  seen  him  in  my  own 
country,  surrounded  by  eager  crowds,  followed  and  feted, 
stormed  upon  by  adulation  and  besieged  by  flatterers,  borne 
in  a  triumphal  car  through  shouting  thousands,  or  swaying  the 
multitude  by  the  magnetic  power  of  his  eloquence,  have  I  felt 
for  him  a  heartier  sympathy,  a  more  wondering  admiration,  a 
more  profound  reverence,  than  when,  on  this  last  visit,  I  saw 
him  thus  in  his  humble  cottage  home. 

The  children  of  Kossuth  are  of  remarkable  beauty  and  in- 
telligence, but  rather  delicate  in  appearance. 

Mazzini  does  not  seem  dismayed  by  the  unhappy  termina- 
tion of  the  emeute  at  Milan,  though  he  is,  of  course,  deeply 
grieved  at  the  fate  of  the  unsuccessful  revolutionists.  How- 
ever indifferent  or  hopeless  you  might  be  on  the  question  of 
Italian  freedom,  I  would  defy  you  to  resist  long  the  kindling 
and  convincing  influence  of  Mazzini's  eloquent  talk.  You 
would,  ere  you  u  ere  aware,  find  yourself  roused,  strengthened, 
borne  on,  by  the  devotion,  the  energy,  the  passionate  earnest- 
ness, the  grandly-uttered  aspiration  of  his  great,  courageous 
heart. 

Mazzini  is  a  man  who  would  seem  to  stand  apart  and  alone, 
though  surged  about  by  a  vast  crowd.  His  is  a  face  to  strike 
upon  you  out  of  a  sea  of  heads.  There  is  a  wonderful  out- 
looking  of  power  and  destiny  from  his  great  dark  eyes.  You 
•lo  not  see  in  them  the  despairing  indolence,  the  slumberous 


A    TOUR    IN    EUROPE.  437 

passion,  of  most  Italian  eyes  —  neither  fierce,  nor  wild,  nor 
dreamy,  they  reveal,  as  words  could  never  speak,  that  terrible 
and  glorious  purpose  on  which  the  life  is  staked,  to  which  the 
soul  is  stretched,  which  has  to  do  with  the  fate  of  races  and 
kingdoms,  and  is  heaving  at  the  foundations  of  the  oldest  des- 
potisms of  Europe.  It  is  a  strange  and  grand  thought,  that 
from  two  simple  homes  in  the  suburbs  of  London  is  going 
forth  a  subtile,  resistless  element,  which  sends  thrills  of  hope 
through  the  else  despairing  hearts  of  thousands  of  Freedom's 
sons,  and  shiverings  of  dread  and  suspicion  through  the  hearts 
of  all  kingly  and  priestly  oppressors,  the  world  over.  Thank 
God  for  the  token  !  When  two  men,  without  birth,  or  fortune, 
or  armies,  can  make  their  names  an  omnipresent  fear  and 
horror  to  tyrants,  then  Tyranny's  day  of  doom  is  not  far 
distant. 

Next  week  I  leave  England;  and  though  my  face  will  then 
be  turned  homeward,  I  shall  go  with  yet  more  sorrowful  emo- 
tion than  that  which  weighed  down  my  heart  when  I  left  my 
native  land.  Then  I  hoped  soon  to  return  —  now  all  is  dark 
and  uncertain,  except  that  I  part  from  many  of  my  English 
friends  for  a  long  time.  As  the  time  for  my  going  draws 
nearer,  more  and  more  earnest  grows  my  prayer  to  Heaven 
for  blessings  on  our  beautiful  moUierland,  and  on  them  whose 
noble  hospitality  and  gentle  ministrations  have  made  my  con- 
stant happiness  in  health  and  my  comfort  in  sickness. 

Dear,  new-found  friends,  latest  elect  of  my  heart,  adieu  I 
Beloved  of  my  country  and  my  home,  I  come ! 
31  * 


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